lor, beautifully done, of
the great avenue leading up to Ripon House. He heard a rustle at the
door, and, turning hastily around, he saw Miss Windsor. She was more
beautiful than the other, was his first thought; and making a step
forward, he bowed humbly, not daring to take the hand she frankly
extended to him.

"Mr. Reynolds!" she said, sweetly. "I am so glad to see you!" This was
well--she remembered him, at all events; and, therefore, his master.

"My lady," said he respectfully, "I have made bold to bring you a
letter--from England."

"From England?" she said, feigning surprise; but a quick blush mantled
her cheek.

"From the Tower of London," said Reynolds, gravely.

"From the Tower?" she cried; "is--is your master in prison?"

"My master is now in Dartmoor Prison, if it please you, my lady," said
Reynolds. "He was sentenced for fifteen years--for trying to serve the
King."

He drew forth the letter, carefully wrapped in a double envelope. She
took it from him quickly, and tore the covering open. This is what she
read:

"MY DEAR MISS WINDSOR: When I see you again--as I hope, if the
fates so will, I may--you, I hope, will be married, and I shall be
getting to be an old man. Fifteen years is much to take from the
sunny part of a man's life; and I can hardly look for much but
shadow after that. I have thought much of you, since I have been
here, and of our last meeting. And I have but one thing to tell
you--what, perhaps, it would have been better for me to have told
you long since--and to ask for your forgiveness for myself. I
should not like to think that you were thinking ill of me, all
these years that I am to stay within these walls.

"Eleanor Carey--at whose feet, as I now know, you must have seen me
that day at Chichester--was the woman I loved when she was a young
girl, beautiful, as you know; lovely, as I then thought. She was
Eleanor Leigh then. Eleanor Carey pretended on that day that she
had never ceased to love me. My noble friend John Dacre had formed
a plot to restore the King of England, and this woman was one of
us. It was she who made a breach between us that day. It was she
who went the morning before to my house, and, overhearing Dacre's
talk to me, stole a paper containing the names and plan of our
conspiracy. It was she who of all our friends was the only traitor.
She murdered m