store for him. He wished no rewards,
no life for himself, but to see his King returned and Great Britain
proud among the nations; yet he liked to sit by Mary Lincoln and ponder
his cherished dream.

Of course he would not speak to her of it; he knew the danger of his
project; yet she read his heart and knew that he was deep in some
adventure which filled his life so that she had no part in it. Still,
she saw that she attracted him, even if he did not know it, and they
talked together about the glories of the past history of their country,
and lived with the great men who, with brain, and sword, and pen had
wrought for the honor and fame of their native land.

It was no courtship, no wooing, only a meeting, for a brief space, of
two human beings who had been made for each other, but whom fate
separated by a rift which could not be bridged. Mary Lincoln knew this,
John Dacre did not; but as he had bade her good-night just before, he
felt a sadness steal over his heart, and his voice had trembled as he
spoke. Even into the heart of this man of one idea, on the eve of this
dangerous conspiracy, all unawares the love god had stolen with muffled
feet, so that he did not know his presence. But Mary knew.

There was a little tap at the door, and she heard Maggie Windsor's voice
asking:

"May I come in?"

Mary arose quickly and unbolted the door, and Maggie Windsor entered.

"You will excuse me for disturbing you, will you not?" asked Maggie,
whose eyes were red with weeping, and whose hair had a dishevelled look,
as if it had been buried deep in a pillow. "But I felt so lonely and
troubled to-night that I have come to talk to you."

Mary leaned over and kissed her with tenderness. "My dear Miss Windsor,"
she said, "I am touched that you should come to me."

"Oh, please do not call me Miss Windsor, call me Maggie: I cannot tell
you anything if you call me Miss Windsor. You know I never had a
mother; and there are some things which a girl must tell to some one."

"Maggie, dear," said Mary gently, "tell me everything. It will ease your
mind, even if I cannot help you in any way."

"You cannot help me; no one can help me," sobbed Maggie, as her friend
put her arm around her waist, and gently stroked her hair. "It is only
that I love him so, and he is unworthy of it."

"Do you mean Geoffrey Ripon?" asked Mary.

"Yes, yes."

"Geoffrey Ripon unworthy of a woman's love!" exclaimed Mary. "That
cannot be. John Dacre--" Sh