bows, swished and
foamed in the wake astern of her. Mr. Phillips brought her up
alongside a broad flight of white steps. The men clawed at the smooth
stone with their fingers. The Queen stepped ashore.

She stood on the lowest step, a figure poised for swift eager motion,
a flushed excited girl, a queen with palpitating heart and eyes full
of dancing merriment. The steps, blazing white in the sunshine, led up
to a broad platform where a tall flagstaff stood. Behind was all the
fantastic wonder of the palace, the porticoes, slender carved columns,
stone lacework of flying buttresses, spires, hollowed spaces of dark
shade, points of sparkling light, broad surfaces of dazzling
whiteness. Mr. Phillips leaped ashore and passed the Queen, bounding
up the steps to the platform. He carried in his hand the parcel which
she had flung into the boat. He reached the flagstaff. He knotted a
light line round his waist. He swarmed up the bare pole. He rove the
line through the block at the top of the staff and slid to earth
again. He bent the halyard to the flag. It ran up, a neat ball. With a
sharp chuck at the line Mr. Phillips broke it out. The Royal Standard
of Salissa fluttered in the morning breeze, pale blue, glorious.

Mr. Phillips shouted:

"Long live the Queen! long live the Queen!"

The Queen, still standing on the bottom step, gave a little cry of
delight. The men in the boat sat still, with puzzled grins on their
faces. Mr. Phillips bounded down to them, leaping the steps in threes
and fours.

"Cheer, you blighters," he said, "unless you want your silly skulls
smashed. Cheer like billy-o. Long live the Queen!"

The men scrambled to their feet and responded. Their cheers rang out.
One of them, moved to enthusiasm, seized his oar and beat the water
with the flat of the blade. Like a man with a flail he raised the oar
high and brought it down with loud smacks on the water, splashing up
sparkling drops, rocking the boat in which he stood. He was not a
native of Salissa, not a subject of the Queen, but his action
expressed the enthusiasm of devoted loyalty.

The Queen bowed, blushing, laughing, breathless with excitement.

Across the bay came the sound of shouting from the men on board the
_Ida_, ragged cheers. The steamer's syren shrieked. Mr. Donovan stood
on the bridge, the rope which controlled the syren in his hand. The
Queen waved to him. Five revolver shots rang out in quick succession.

"Good old Wilson!" sa