beneath the trees, the Baron sighed.

"Ronador," he said kindly, "it would have been in vain."

"And now," Ronador moistened his pallid lips, "there is a rumble of war
from Galituria."

"Yes," said Tregar sadly, "Themar was a traitor."

"I told him much," said Ronador, great drops of moisture standing forth
upon his forehead. "It seemed that I must, to make him understand the
urgent need of silencing Granberry forever. He cabled the news to
Galituria and sold it. I am ill and discouraged. There is fever in my
blood, Tregar, from this climate of eternal summer--a fever in my
head--"

Tregar stroked his beard.

"There is a doctor," he said quietly, "of whom Poynter has told me
much--a doctor who healed Granberry's mind as well as his body. I had
thought to go to him myself--to rest. I, too, am tired, Ronador. One
goes to a little hamlet and an old man guides by a road to the south
into the Everglades. Let us go there together."

"No!" said Ronador sullenly. "Let us rather go home. I am sick of
this land of insolent men like Granberry and Poynter, who bend the knee
to no man."

"You would go back then, ill, sullen, resentful, with the news that we
must lay before your father? By Heaven, no!" thundered the Baron with
one of his infrequent outbursts. "Let us go back smiling, for all we
have lost, and seek to tell of this child of Theodomir with what grace
we can muster. Poynter is at the bedside of his father. Granberry has
gone to learn the tale of the other candlestick. These men, Ronador,
we must see again before we sail. In the meantime, there is Poynter's
physician."

"Very well," said Ronador, goaded to a sudden consent by a fevered wave
of nausea and shaking, "let us go to him."

So came Prince Ronador and the Baron to the island lodge of Mic-co.

Though Ronador in the first disorder of rebellious mind and body, had
fancied himself sicker than he really was, he was suffering more now
than even Tregar guessed. The last stage of the journey to a man of
less indomitable grit and courage would have been impossible. It was
no sickness of the mind alone. His body was wildly ravaged by a fever.

Through a dizzy blur which distorted every object and which frowningly
he sought to drive away with clenched hands, he stared at the lodge,
stared at Keela, stared at the grave and quiet face of Mic-co. He was
still staring vaguely about him when night curtained the lilied pool
and the stars flashe