The Kings Men | Page 9

better things, Lord Brompton. Look at that line of ancestors," she
exclaimed. "You ought to do something worthy of them."
The ex-peer shook his head. "I have ambition, I think, thanks largely to
my friendship with you two summers ago; but the outlook is very
gloomy. England is in the hands of professional politicians. There is no
chance for gentlemen in political life."

"But the King may come to his own again," she murmured, in pity for
his mood. "Your title is unimpeached at his exiled court."
"I have doubts as to the desirability of a return to the old order of things,
even if there were hopes of success. It is useless to fight against the
spirit of the age. The King is old and fat."
"I saw the King riding in a herdic in Boston a few days before we
sailed," said Maggie. "He was stopping at the old Province House. Poor
sovereign, he looked destitute."
"He is very poor. What was saved from the wreck is in the hands of
Bugbee, the London banker. The court has since been moved to the
South End. But a monarchy is surely vastly preferable to our present
administration. President Bagshaw is a disgrace to any civilized
community, to say nothing of an ideal republic."
"There is the ancestor who looks like you," said she, pointing to the
portrait of a cavalier wearing hat and plume and long mustaches. "But
is there no hope from the opposition?" she inquired.
"I cannot yet bring myself to sympathize with the Liberals, although
their leader, Richard Lincoln, is a great and upright man. While the
King lives I can no more be disloyal to the House of Hanover than my
namesake up there could have been to his master's cause. Still, I feel we
are living in an age when opinions are no more secure from revolution
than dynasties."
"Speaking just now of the Chevalier Bayard reminds me that Jawkins
mentioned as one of the guests he had procured for the occasion--"
"Like so much plate or china," interrupted the quondam peer, bitterly.
"Sir John Dacre," continued Miss Windsor, without regard to his
petulance.
"John Dacre?" he cried, with interest.

"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Know him! He was one of my dearest college friends. He is a man of
the utmost dignity of soul and consummate breeding."
"Jawkins spoke of him with positive awe as a gentleman of the old
school. 'He is a chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, miss,' said he,
'and one of my choicest specimens. He is more precious than Sèvres
china; but at present he declines pay.'"
"St. George and the dragon!" cried Lord Brompton, "what would Dacre
say could he hear the comparison? Jawkins's life would not be worth an
hour's purchase. We regarded John Dacre at Oxford as the ideal of a
chivalric nature."
"You interest me greatly," said she. "But what has he been doing since
you graduated?"
"We have not met, but I have heard of him as loyal and devoted to the
royal cause when the outlook was darkest. I shall find him the same
noble, ardent soul as ever, I have not a doubt. Like enough his zeal will
be the needful spur to my flagging spirit."
They had been wandering through the spacious mansion as they talked,
but so absorbed were they in the conversation that the changes in the
arrangement of the ancient heirlooms of the once illustrious house of
Ripon made but little impression upon Lord Brompton. Weary at last
with their wanderings the twain seated themselves upon a broad leather
couch, from which they could command a view of a magnificent
stained-glass mullioned window, which dated back to the days of
George the First. The half light of the apartment was perhaps a begetter
of remembrances, for they began to talk of the past, if indeed so short a
period back as two summers deserves to be so entitled. Through Lord
Brompton's thoughts floated an inquiry as to whether he was not in love
with his companion, for, if not, why this joyous sense of re-acquisition
on his part? He had never forgotten the pleasant, happy hours passed in
La Belle France, and here they were come again, and he was visiting
side by side with her whose smile had been their harbinger.

"But I am forgetting, Lord Brompton, the object of our coming here,"
she exclaimed at last. "I want to know the secrets of Ripon House.
Where is the haunted chamber?"
Geoffrey smiled, and rising from his seat walked to the other side of the
room and touched a spring in the wainscot. A panel flew to one side
and revealed a narrow aperture.
"Follow me if you have a brave heart," he cried, looking back.
The apartment in