oaching party, he lay
for some minutes dreamily revolving in his head the events of the last
two days. He felt that he had reached a crisis in his life, and as he
stretched himself on his narrow bed he groaned inwardly at the
perplexity and danger of the situation in which he found himself. After
his lonely existence he was suddenly in the vortex of the whirlpool. He
had promised his life to Sir John Dacre and to his country to be staked
upon a hazard, which he thought to be hopeless, and knew to be
desperate. He did not think of swerving from this promise, for he felt
that he must be true to his order and to high patriotism.

He winced, too, as he thought of the scene with Mrs. Carey in the ruins
of the Cathedral. He knew that he could not have averted it, for it had
broken upon him with the suddenness of a summer shower. He had entered
into a dangerous conspiracy, and had made a deadly enemy on the same
day.

He was sure that Miss Windsor had seen the affair in the ruins. He had
given the ribbons on the drive home to Dacre, and had taken his place by
Maggie's side on the back seat, but she had been cold and constrained,
and had answered his remarks with monosyllables. The party was so gloomy
that it was a positive relief when a cold drizzling rain set in, and
mackintoshes and cloaks covered up the faces of all, and made
conversation difficult. But, after thinking of the dark side of the
medal, Geoffrey gave a shrug of his shoulders, and cast off for a moment
gloomy thoughts, as a duck shakes off water from its oily plumage.

"Mrs. Carey was right," he said; "love is the great thing, after all;
and I love Maggie Windsor. I have little enough to offer her, not even
my life, for that I promised to John Dacre, and the reversion is not
worth much, I fear. My title! Ah, that is an offering indeed; a title by
courtesy, in a democracy which at the same time sneers at and cringes to
it. But I love her, and if a man comes to a woman with a sincere love he
will at least be heard."

Then the thought of his promise to Dacre filled his mind and heart, and
he groaned aloud.

"How can I speak to her of love, when I am on the verge of this emeute
at Aldershot? And yet I cannot give up life without having had the
satisfaction of its one joy, its one reality! I love Margaret Windsor,
and there is a chance, a bare chance, of her loving me. Why did she pick
out my old house, when she knew that I was living here, if she did not
wish