d in the minds of all who knew me well, and
for others I cared not. My term expired soon after that date, and
though I chose to remain in Virginia and not return to England, yet
my property was restored to me, for my half-brother, John
Chelmsford, when confronted by any gate of injustice leapt it like
an English gentleman, with no ado. And yet after I heard that
letter, I knew that I was a convict still, and knew that for some I
would be until the end of the chapter, and when I grew a little
stronger, that wild hope that now I might have Mary, dimmed within
me, for how could I allow her to wed a man with a stain upon his
honour? And even had I been pardoned, the fact of the pardon had
seemed to prove my guilt.

It was three days after this, my brother and various others striving
all the time, but with no effect, to secure my release, that Mary
herself came to see me. Catherine, as I afterward discovered, had
unlocked her chamber door and set her free while her grandmother
slept, and the girl had mounted Merry Roger, and come straight to
me, not caring who knew.

I heard the key grate in the lock, and turned my eyes, and there she
was: the blessing of my whole life, though I felt that I must not
take it. Close to me she came and knelt, and leaned her cheek
against mine, and stroked back my wild hair.

"Harry, Harry," she whispered, and all her dear face was tremulous
with love and joy.

"Thou art no convict, Harry," she said. "Thou didst not steal the
ring, but that I knew before, and I know not any better now, and I
love thee no better now. And I would have been thine in any case."

"I am still a convict, sweetheart," I said, but I fear weakly.

"Harry," she cried out, "thou wilt not let that stand betwixt us
now?"

"How can I let thee wed with a convict, if I love thee?" I said.
"And know you not that this letter of my Lord Ealing's clears me not
legally?"

"That I know," she answered frowning, "because thy brother hath
consulted half the lawyers in England ere he came. I know that, my
poor Harry, but what is that to us?"

"I cannot let thee wed a convict; a man with his honour stained,
dear heart," I said.

Then she fixed her blue eyes upon mine with such a look as never I
saw in mortal woman. She knew at that time what sentence had been
fixed upon me for my share in the tobacco riot, but I did not know,
and then and there she formed such a purpose, as sure no maid,
however great her love for a man, for