alty was but
sleeping, and ready to be aroused to life and activity at the first
flutter of a Stuart tartan on the hills, or the first wild strains of a
pibroch in the gorse-clad valleys.

And yet Purcell said--he had heard him say--the world has no further
need of this family; the pageant they moved in has passed by for
ever. The mere chance mention, too, of Mirabeau's name--that
terrible intelligence which had subjugated Gerald's mind from very
boyhood--imparted additional force to this judgment. 'Perhaps it is even
as he says,' muttered Gerald; 'perhaps the old fire has died out on the
altars, and men want us not any more.'

Whenever in history he had chanced upon the mention of men who, once
great by family and pretension, had fallen into low esteem and humble
fortunes, he always wondered why they had not broken with the old world
and its traditions at once, and sought in some new and far-off quarter
of the globe a life untrammelled by the past. 'Some would call this
faint-heartedness; some would say that it is a craven part to turn from
danger; but it is not the danger I turn from; it is not the peril that
appalls me; it is the sting of that sarcasm that says, Who is he that
comes on the pretext of a name, to trouble the world's peace, unfix
men's minds and unhinge their loyalty? What does he bring us in exchange
for this earthquake of opinion? Is he wiser, better, braver, more
skilled in the arts of war or peace than those he would overthrow?'

As he waged conflict with these thoughts, came the summons to announce
that the Countess was waiting supper for him.

'I cannot come to-night. I am ill--fatigued. Say that I am in want of
rest, and have lain down upon my bed.' Such was the answer he gave,
uttered in the broken, interrupted tone of one ill at ease with himself.

The Cardinal's physician was speedily at his door, to offer his
services, but Gerald declined them abruptly and begged to be left alone.
At length a heavy step was heard in the corridor, and the Cardinal
himself demanded admission.

In the hurried excuses that Gerald poured forth, the wily churchman
quickly saw that the real cause of his absence was untouched.

'Come, Prince,' said he good-humouredly, 'tell me frankly, you are not
satisfied with Guglia and myself for having permitted this man to come
here; but I own that I yielded only to Massoni's earnest desire.'

'And why should Massoni have so insisted,' asked Gerald.

'For this good re