anny, Papists, and his father-in-law. So good honest citizens gathered around the vanes to pray for a Protestant east wind. And in Whitehall King James was clapping into the fire every copy of Prince William's declaration that the tipstaffs could bring him and giving orders to revoke and rescind all the ordinances of his three years' reign. He complained pathetically to my lord Sunderland, that his wicked people would not believe him sincere. But how should good Protestants ('twas asked in a nameless leaflet writ by M. de Beaujeu) trust a King who persecuted Bishops, who had made a Prince of Wales of a butter-woman's brat?

M. de Beaujeu sat in his room over the river guiding, with Mr. Healy, the storm. There was plentiful work. So many fine gentlemen must needs come and confide to him now that they had in truth been for many years devoted to freedom's cause-so many more must write and beg the honor of an occasion to serve His Highness of Orange (whose name indeed had been for a decade in their humble prayers). Withal there was the town and its passions to watch and guide. Good citizens must be roused by rumor and pamphlet to fierce wrath against their King. The 'prentices and the mobile must have their leaders and their rallying cries. Sure, the King must not be let doubt a moment that his people had him in bitter hate.

So M. de Beaujeu had plentiful work, and he tried to lose himself in it, for it seemed that Mistress Charlbury had vanished off the earth. Healy and Jack and he had beat the town for her -she had been sought in the old home at Byfleet-and all was for nought. So Jack was gone to raise his Kentish tenantry and Beaujeu was left to work and forget. And he could do neither thoroughly. An hour's fierce labor would end in his staring stupid at a paper or pacing peevishly up and down

the room a long while, his mind numb. Yet since monsieur was working for his own greatness, he made no mistakes, he left nought undone, the strings of the great revolt were firm held in his hand. And Mr. Healy marvelled alike at his brain and his heart.

There were two noble gentlemen, Patrick O'Gorman and Richard Rutter, gentlemen with whose arm-bones Mr. Healy's sword was acquainted, could have brought tidings of moment to monsieur. Detailed by my lord Sherborne to go a-spying on Mistress Charlbury they had done their duty. While Beaujeu was pinking my lord Wickham they had beheld Mistress Charlbury mount her coach. Mr. Rutter and Mr. O'Gorman sped after it as best they could, but being over-good friends of strong ale had stitches in their sides and lost it in Kennington Lane. For which they were little thanked by my lord Sherborne.

But my lord having some light was guided. Mr. O'Gorman and Mr. Rutter and their gallant companions, my lord's private bullies, were set to converse in all the ale-houses on the western roads. It was a grateful task, and after joyous weeks Mr. Rutter ran his quarry to ground in a little house by the river at Isleworth, Mr. Rutter, though slightly drunk, was sure that he knew the tall woman picking roses, and he lurched off gurgling with glad tidings.

So on the next day my lord Sherborne, his crimson velvet bedewed with the autumn mist, strode into a little dark wainscoted room, and stood smiling before Mistress Charlbury.

Rose started up very pale, and her hand caught at her breast: "You?" she gasped. "You?"

"And why not I, child?" says my lord, smiling. "Since your noble husband has cast you off."

"And who says that, my lord?" Rose cried.

My lord laughed. "Does it need saying? Why else are you hiding here? I' gad, I know what he was when you lied for him, and sure you yourself know him now-'tis a knave that uses you for any scoundrelly turn and-" "My lord!" she cried fiercely, flushing. My lord approached and laid his hand on her shoulder, but she started from his touch. His blue eyes were dull. "Rose," says he, in a low voice, "I am not come to hurt you-not that, God knows," and he met her searching gaze. "I am come to help, child. I thought at first he had placed you somewhere. But now," his voice rose higher, "now he has scorned you-spite of all-and you" (my lord's voice was unsteady), "you are hiding for shame. So I come. Rose, I want to help. Will you not trust me again? trusted once, child."

You

Rose had grown pale again. "It was before I knew you, my lord," she said coldly.

Sherborne muttered something-then caught her hands. ""Tis my quarrel if 'tis yours, Rose," he cried, "let me repay."

"Repay?" Rose echoed it, wide-eyed in amazement.

"Ay, sure, you must hate him now at least!" He grasped her hands harder, he was growing crimson, and Rose stared at him as at a madman. "Let me make the knave answer it!" cried Sherborne. "Let me take up your wrongs."

"I have no wrongs, my lord," said Rose coldly. "Please you, release my hands."

Sherborne flung them away from him and started back. The veins swelled in his temples, and his breath came noisily. A moment he glared at her, then "What? What?" he cried hoarsely. "Still mad for him? Well! you may make your adieux to him, mistress. Begad, I will now make an end!" He eyed her an instant, smiling upon her

but unlovely, then caught up his bat and strode off.

Rose caught her breath. At any cost, my lord must not be let go thus-'twas death for Mr. Dane or his ruin, and in that cause all must be dared. "Nono, I protest, my lord," she gasped. "I-I yearn for him to be punished." Sherborne turned in the doorway and eyed her curiously. "I pray you-tell me what you would do."

Sherborne stared at her a moment, and then, "Bah, did you think to fool me so?" he snarled. "Tell you? And have you warn him and save him again? No, begad, you'll not bubble me twice."

"Indeed, my lord, 'tis not so. How can you think I would save him again?" says poor Rose anxiously. ""Twas yourself said I must hate him at heart, and-"

But Sherborne laughed: "Ay, you can act. All the town knows that. But I am not the King to be cheated so, ma'am." Then his brow darkened. "Zounds, you must be curst, to love him so and he'd not even stir to take you-oh, God!" My lord compared his own case.

"I say that I do not love him, my lord," cried Rose blushing.

"Why, then, we'll prove it. Soon, egad, there'll be nought of him live to love, and then-will you weep for him? Not you, child, for you do not love him. Give me some wine then, and I'll drink you hell to Beaujeu!"

Rose had caught her hand to her breast and gazed at his bloodshot starting eyes. "I-I have tried to cheat," she said unsteadily. "I do love him yet. My lord, if you love me, indeed, you'll not do this thing."

"If?" cried Sherborne. "God, what would you ask me? I have offered you all of mine time and again? And would your fine flame Beaujeu do as much?" My lord's passions conquered his speech.

"You talk of love, my lord," says the girl quietly, while he mumbled and muttered. "If you love me you'll not harm whom I love."

My lord seemed to himself to listen to ravings. "By God, 'tis the pure reason," he cried amazed. "Well, mistress, we'll see if you love the dead," and he turned away.

Rose gave a little gasp. "Stay yet," she murmured, and my lord lingered, looking at her. She blushed and could not speak for a while. Then, looking down at the ground, "If you care to take me, who do not care at all for you-you may, my lord," she said. "Ay! As the price for his life," cried my lord.

The Monthly Review.

"Since you must have a price," said the girl.

My lord stared at her a while. Then, "No, ma'am," he said, and he laughed. "I'll account with him first. You," his eyes were greedy, "you shall come after," and on that he went out, leaving her all trembling and cold.

So Rose's maid must needs go into town on the carrier's wain, and M. de Beaujeu found in his hall a letter.

"Dear,-Pray look well to yourself. My lord Sherborne hath sworn your death, and meens it. Rose."

Transferred from New York to London one finds himself at once in a new atmosphere. In the former, as a citizen of a continent under one flag, with no enemies to fear, the exciting incidents of life are domestic. He is concerned only with internal affairs. What takes place in other parts of the world, with rare exceptions, is to him matter of curiosity rather than importance.

Reading the newspapers in London for a day, all is changed. He realizes that he is again in the old Island Home, unfortunately "engulfed in the vortex of militarism," to use Sir Wilfrid Laurier's phrase. Telegrams from European capitals bear directly upon the aspirations and generally the hostile intentions of the various rival countries of Europe. Germany in the Morocco dispute, the designs of Turkey upon Tabah Harbor, Russia's designs upon India, Germany's unquenchable ambition to rival Britain on the sea-these

or subjects of similar import are laid before the Briton day after day, and sinister interpretations generally given to ordinary routine events.

In

The furthest of European capitals is nearer to London than cities from which the American gathers the daily news of his own country, but although the field of his interest equals the whole of Europe, there is nothing to arouse suspicion or jealousy, the issues arising being home questions. the old home, on the contrary, the cry of "Wolf!" is rarely absent. There is usually some real or imaginary danger menacing it from some quarter, calling for increased armaments on sea and conscription on land. This is in some degree inevitable, for Europe being an armed camp with millions of men trained and ready to attack or repel the attack of each other, the cry of "Wolf!" is ready to burst forth at every rustling leaf in the forest. All Europe sleeps in fear, and hears the wolf in ter

rible dreams which afflict her nightly, and this although the past shows that a generation of alarms may all be false. There are occasions no doubt, though rare, when reason for apprehension may arise, but there seem to the writer to be two pure delusions which especially afflict Britain. One is the cry of "Russian wolf!" When an increased army is demanded it is against this it is said to be needed. In Mr. Balfour's weighty speech upon British defence this stands in the foreground. A great reserve army must be held in Britain, prepared, capable, and ready to reinforce the army in India when the Russian wolf appears. How the fear of Russian attacks upon India arose it is difficult to understand. It is true that she has annexed coterminous territory, but never yet have we been able to obtain from any source a reasonable explanation why Russia should desire or why she would take, if offered, such a burden as control of India. Unlike the other regions annexed by her, India is to-day already fully populated, if not over-populated. There is no room there for Russians any more than for Britons to settle, and if there were, the climate, fatal to British, would be equally so to Russian occupation. Britain obtains no decided advantage from India, which trades freely with all nations. It cannot be made to yield revenue to any foreign occupant without sapping allegiance. Its occupation can only be a drain upon the military power of the occupant, as it is admittedly the chief drain upon that of Britain. It is not in the nature of things that seventy or eighty thousand foreign troops can hold control of three hundred millions of people when these become intelligent, as the people of India are fast becoming through British schools. Were Britain free from India to-day it would be unwise in her to take possession if that were offered, because it can never be colonized. It must be

held by force, and hence remain foreign to the conquering nation, union being impossible. These considerations are not likely to be overlooked by Russia, even if she may "demonstrate" now and then, in the tortuous throes of European politics, as if she seriously had intentions of menacing British power in India. It would not be good seuse for Russia to add India to her reponsibilities even if gifted to her. But assuming for a moment that Russia could commit the fatuous folly of invading India, there would still be the people of India to be reckoned with. The writer travelled through India and was introduced to educated natives by American officials, who, without exception, were upon terms of closest intimacy with the people. To the Briton, his master, the Indian is naturally reserved; to the American he is drawn by sympathetic bonds. Conversation was quite free and unrestrained, and the writer believes that he thus obtained an insight into the situation in India which few Britons can secure. That there is a strong and growing desire on the part of educated Indians ultimately to govern their own country goes without saying. They would not be educated if this aspiration did not arise within them. Education makes rebels against invaders. Material benefits conferred by them, however great, count for little against the spirit of national independence. As we write we hear of unrest even in Egypt, where the invaders' rule has been exceptionally fruitful. The slaveholders in America were quite justified in putting to death under the law any man who taught their slaves to read, if we concede their right to continue the system of slavery, for it is obviously necessary that slaves be kept in ignorance. The British policy in India has been grandly different. The young Indians are educated in British colleges and schools, and read British history. They know the long

and glorious struggle of the people against absolute monarchs. Their heroes are the heroes of our Englishspeaking race. They have the story of Washington and the American Revolution, and what is even more significant, they have taken deeply to heart the support which some of the foremost statesmen and many of the people of Britain gave to the Americans fighting "for British liberties." British history cannot be read and understood without inspiring within the studious reader under military control an invincible resolve to free and govern his own country.

Following Indian affairs with interest, the writer judges that within recent years this sentiment has grown rapidly and is continually strengthening. The native Press proves this. Let there, then, be no delusion about the Indian problem. The aim of the educated there to-day is to govern their own country some day, and this sentiment must soon permeate the others, but notwithstanding this the writer can bear testimony to one important fact, highly creditable to British rule: not one Indian ever spoke upon the subject who did not express decided preference for British supervision over that of any other Power. The safety of Britain lies in this, and if the issue ever were made, which is highly improbable, indeed almost impossible to assume, of Britain versus Russia, or Britain versus Germany, or Britain versus any other Power or combination of Powers, there would not be two parties, but one solid people determined to support Britain. It says much for Britain that after nearly two centuries of control this preference exists. No other people are to be compared with the British as rulers of others, and foremost of all their qualities is that they execute righteous judgment. The people of India appreciate this.

Russia, or any other Power or combi

nation of Powers, invading India, therefore, would have to reckon not only with the military forces of Britain, but with the power of the whole people of India behind them. It is not Russia, nor any nation of Europe, nor all the nations combined that Britain has to fear in such a contest, for no nation but Britain could have done for India and her people what she has done. The people of India know this well.

If India be properly guided, therefore, no violent revolution need be feared. The movement toward independence would be orderly and slow, although irresistible. We can imagine India deciding to set up for herself, as we can imagine Canada or Australasia, as the daughter, leaving the mother's house to establish a home for herself, followed by the love of the mother, fully reciprocated by the daughter. The true policy of Britain, in the opinion of the writer, is to say some day soon to India, as she has said to Canada and Australasia, that if she ever feels the time has arrived when she must establish government for herself, so be it. Not a hand will be raised against her; she will go with the mother's blessing. It is because this has been said to the British self-governing Colonies that they remain loyal Colonies to-day. Proclaim coercion and the part of America would soon be played by them over again. When India is told this, the effect will be as it has been with the Colonies-viz. to bind her closer and to keep her longer than otherwise within the Empire.

As far as the military and other British authorities in India are concerned, their advice as to policy is generally worse than worthless-it is misleading. Constant contact with a danger feared renders sound judgment upon it impossible. They are as men sitting upon the safety-valve with the escaping steam roaring in their ears and who advise putting additional pressure upon