He caught her by the wrist and dragged her to the window.

"See!" he cried again, and pointed a shaking finger toward the black hulk in the harbour.

But she did not look. Instead she shrank away from him and pressed her hands before her eyes, and shook with a long shudder.

And after a moment, the light faded from her father's face, and left it old and worn; his eyes grew dull and moody; his lips trembled.

"Every cause must have its martyrs," he said, as though answering her thought, and his voice was shaking with emotion; "even the cause of freedom; yea, that more than any other, for the battle against tyranny is the most desperate of all!"

And dropping her wrist, he went slowly from the room.


CHAPTER II

FRANCE IN MOURNING