than doing nothing," he said sadly. "To struggle and fight
once in a while mean living; to sit still would be to die."

Arthur was ushered in just then by the servant, and took his place
comfortably before the fire. One could see the regard which they felt
for him; on the part of Ledwith it was almost affection. Deeply and
sincerely he returned their kindly feeling.

He had a host of reasons for his regard. Their position seemed as
strange to the humdrum world as his own. They were looked on as queer
people, who lived outside the ruts for the sake of an enslaved nation.
The idea of losing three meals a day and a fixed home for a hopeless
cause tickled the humor of the practical. Their devotion to an idea
hardly surpassed their devotion to each other. He mourned for her
isolation, she mourned over his failures to free his native land.

"I have almost given the cause up," he said once to Arthur, "because I
feel my helplessness. I cannot agree with the leaders nor they with me.
But if I gave up she would worry herself to death over my loss of hope.
I keep on, half on her account, half in the hope of striking the real
thing at the end."

"It seems to be also the breath of her life," said Arthur.

"No, it is not," the father replied. "Have you not heard her talk of
your friend, Louis Everard? How she dwells on his calling, and the
happiness of it! My poor child, her whole heart yearns for the cloister.
She loves all such things. I have urged her to follow her inclinations,
though I know it would be the stroke of death for me, but she will not
leave me until I die."

"You must not take us too seriously," she had once said, "in this matter
of Irish liberties. My father is hopelessly out of the current, for his
health is only fair, and he has quarreled with his leaders. I have given
up hope of achieving anything. But if he gives up he dies. So, I
encourage him and keep marching on, in spite of the bitterest
disappointments. Perhaps something may come of it in the end."

"Not a doubt of it," said Arthur, uttering a great thought. "Every tear,
every thought, every heart-throb, every drop of sweat and blood,
expended for human liberty, must be gathered up by God and laid away in
the treasury of heaven. The despots of time shall pay the interest of
that fund here or there."

A woman whose ideals embraced the freedom of an oppressed people,
devotion to her father, and love for the things of God, would naturally
have a stron