e read a powerful lot of
things that do not come our way up here. But let us understand each
other. I cannot make head or tail of these far-fetched new-fangle
notions you, somehow or other, have fallen in love with--your James
Fox, your Wilberforce, your Adam Smith, they may be very fine fellows,
but to my humble thinking they're but a pack of traitors to king and
country, when all is said and done. All this does not suit an English
gentleman. You think differently; or perhaps you do not care whether
it does or not. I admit I can't hold forth as you do; nor string a lot
of fine words together. I am only an old nincompoop compared to a
clever young spark like you. But I request you to keep off these
topics in the company I like to see round my table. They don't like
Jacobins, you know, no more do I!"

"Nor do I," said Adrian fervently.

"Nor do you? Don't you, sir, don't you? Why, then what the devil have
you been driving at?"

"I am afraid, sir, you do not understand my views."

"Well, never mind; I don't like 'em, that's short, and if you bring
them out before your cousin, little Madame Savenaye, you will come off
second best, my lad, great man as you are, and so I warn you!"

In tones as unconcerned as he could render them the young man sought
to turn the intercourse to less personal topics, by inquiring further
anent this unknown cousin whose very name was strange to him.

Sir Thomas, easily placable if easily roused, started willingly enough
on a congenial topic. And thus Adrian conceived his first impression
of that romantic being whose deeds have remained legendary in the
French west country, and who was destined to exercise so strong an
influence upon his own life.

"Who is she?" quoth the old gentleman, with evident zest. "Ay. All
this is news to you, of course. Well: she _was_ Cecile de Kermelegan.
You know your mother's sister Mary Donoghue (murthering Moll, they
called her on account of her killing eyes) married a M. de Kermelegan,
a gentleman of Brittany. Madame de Savenaye is her daughter (first
cousin of yours), that means that she has good old English blood in
her veins and Irish to boot. She speaks English as well as you or I,
her mother's teaching of course, but she is French all the same; and,
by gad, of the sort which would reconcile even an Englishman with the
breed!"

Sir Thomas's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm; his son examined him with
grave wonder.

"The very sight of her, my boy, is e