t in loneliness and exile here in
England, a work far greater and more comprehensive than that which had
secured for England religious and political liberty; this work it was
which made him a wanderer on the face of the earth and caused his
frequent and lengthy absences from the cottage in which he lodged.

She was quite content for the moment with these vague promises: in her
heart she was evolving enchanting plans for the future, when she would
be his helpmate in this great and mysterious work.

In the meanwhile she was satisfied to live in the present, to console
and comfort the noble exile, to lavish on him the treasures of her young
and innocent love, to endow him in her imagination with all those mental
and physical attributes which her romantic nature admired most.

The spring had come, clothing the weird branches of the elms with a
tender garb of green, the anemones in the woods yielded to the bluebells
and these to carpets of primroses and violets. The forests of Thanet
echoed with songs of linnets and white-throats. She was happy and she
was in love.

With the lengthened days came some petty sorrows. He was obviously
worried, sometimes even impatient. Their meetings became fewer and
shorter, for the evening hours were brief. She found it difficult to
wander out so late across the park, unperceived, and he would never
meet her by day-light.

This no doubt had caused him to fret. He loved her and desired her all
his own. Yet 'twere useless of a surety to ask Sir Marmaduke's consent
to her marriage with her French prince. He would never give it, and
until she came of age he had absolute power over her choice of a
husband.

She had explained this to him and he had sighed and murmured angry
words, then pressed her with increased passion to his heart.

To-night as she walked through the park, she was conscious--for the
first time perhaps--of a certain alloy mixed with her gladness. Yet she
loved him--oh, yes! just, just as much as ever. The halo of romance with
which she had framed in his mystic personality was in no way dimmed, but
in a sense she almost feared him, for at times his muffled voice sounded
singularly vehement, and his words betrayed the uncontrolled violence of
his nature.

She had hoped to bring him some reassuring news anent Sir Marmaduke de
Chavasse's intentions with regard to herself, but the conversation round
the skittle-alley, her guardian's cruel allusions to "the foreign
adventurer,