But if we return not from our adventure," ended Sir Mortimer, "if the sea claims us, and upon his sandy floor, amid his Armida gardens, the silver-singing mermaiden marvel at that wreckage which was once a tall ship and at those bones which once were animate, --if strange islands know our resting-place, sunk for evermore in huge and most unkindly forests, --if, being but pawns in a mighty game, we are lost or changed, happy, however, in that the white hand of our Queen hath touched us, giving thereby consecration to our else unworthiness, --if we find no gold, nor take one ship of Spain, nor any city treasure-stored, --if we suffer a myriad sort of sorrows and at the last we perish miserably--"