‘It is death or success,’ she whispered. ‘Be of good cheer; in either event you shall be counted noble among the men to come.’
When Grace Ingleby wished him good-night, she held his hand in hers with the firm grasp of a sister.
‘You are one of us,’ she said frankly. ‘In this house we are all brothers and sisters in hope and in Religion. And if they found us out,’ she added with a laugh, ‘we should be brothers and sisters in death. Courage, my lord! There is all to gain.’
Faith Ingleby, the younger sister, who had less ardour for the Cause than for the men who were pledged to it, whispered low, as he took her hand,—
‘We know all about Lady Carlyon; and we pray daily for her, and for you. Mother says she is worthy to become—to be raised—to be——’
‘What?’ he asked, reddening; for the girl hesitated and looked at him with a kind of awe.
‘Queen of England.’
‘Don’t anticipate, Faith,’ said Algy. ‘Considering, however, what we have come out of, it strikes me that we have nothing to lose, whatever we may gain. Come, Chester, we want to have a quiet talk together as soon as the Bishop goes to bed.’
They talked for nearly the whole night. There was so much to say; one subject after another was started; there were so many chances to consider,—that it was four o’clock when they parted. Algy found, somewhere or other, a bottle of champagne.
‘Come,’ he cried, ‘a stirrup-cup! I drink to the day when the “King shall enjoy his own again.” ’