for the enslaved and outraged everywhere.
God be thanked, if we poor creatures have stirred this spirit in you,
lighted the flame--it's enough."

"I have sworn it," cried Arthur, betrayed by his secret rage into
eloquence. "I did not dream the world was so full of injustice. I could
not understand the divine sorrow which tore your hearts for the wronged
everywhere. I saw you suffer. I saw later what caused your suffering,
and I felt ashamed that I had been so long idle and blind. Now I have
sworn to myself that my life and my wealth shall be at the service of
the enslaved forever."

They went their different ways, the father to prison, Honora to the
prison village, and Arthur with all speed to New York, burning with
hatred of Livingstone. The great man had simply tricked them, had
studied the matter over with his English friends, and had found a way to
satisfy the friends of Ledwith and the government at the same time.
Well, it was a long lane that had no turning, and Arthur swore that he
would find the turning which would undo Quincy Livingstone.

AN ESCAPED NUN.

CHAPTER XVIII.

JUDY VISITS THE POPE.

He used the leisure of the voyage to review recent events, and to
measure his own progress. For the first time since his calamity he had
lost sight of himself in this poetic enterprise of Ledwith's, successful
beyond all expectation. In this life of intrigue against the injustice
of power, this endless struggle to shake the grip of the master on the
slave, he found an intoxication. Though many plans had come to nothing,
and the prison had swallowed a thousand victims, the game was worth the
danger and the failure. In the Fenian uprising the proud rulers had lost
sleep and comfort, and the world had raised its languid eyes for a
moment to study events in Ireland. Even the slave can stir the selfish
to interest by a determined blow at his masters. In his former existence
very far had been from him this glorious career, though honors lay in
wait for an Endicott who took to statecraft. Shallow Horace, sprung from
statesman, had found public life a bore. This feeling had saved him
perhaps from the fate of Livingstone, who in his snail-shell could see
no other America than a monstrous reproduction of Plymouth colony.

He had learned at last that his dear country was made for the human
race. God had guided the little ones of the nations, wretched but hardy,
to the land, the only land on earth, where dreams