The Kings Men | Page 5

plot against the people."
Mary looked at her father as if she wished him to speak.
"These men," he said, "do not regain power as lords, but as commoners. That is good, instead of bad--their withdrawal would be more dangerous. We must remember that those who have lost by the revolution are still as much a part of the English people as those who have gained."
"I don't know about that," said Patterson, stubbornly. "I believe those aristocrats are actually plotting treason; and a traitor separates himself from his people."
Richard Lincoln's silence only stirred up the old Radical. He shot home next time.
"I believe we shall have a lord returned for Nottingham next election."
A slow flush rose in Lincoln's face, and he unconsciously raised his head.
"For the last two years," continued Patterson, seeing the effect of his words, "only two Englishmen have been heard of to any extent--the demagogue leader, Bagshaw, and Sir John Dacre, the insolent young leader of the aristocrats."
This time it was the daughter that flushed at Mr. Patterson's words.
"Mr. Dacre is not insolent," said Mary, warmly. "I have met him several times. He is a most remarkable man."
"He couldn't well be insolent to you, Mary," the wily Patterson answered, with a smile for his favorite, who usually agreed with his radicalism, "but his tone to the public is a different thing."
"You extremists are at least responsible for one of these--for the demagogue--" said Richard Lincoln.
"Yes; I admit it. The election of Bagshaw for Liverpool was a terrible mistake. But, if we had had our way, the other evil should have lost its head--O, I beg your pardon, Mary; I did not mean your friend, Mr. Dacre, but the principle he represents."
Mary Lincoln had exclaimed as if shocked, which brought out the concluding words from Mr. Patterson.
"If one were gone, would not the danger be greater?" asked Richard Lincoln. "They keep each other in check. They are useful enemies."
"Take care they don't some day turn round and be useful friends," retorted Patterson. "I believe they did so in Derby yesterday. If they were to do it in Nottingham they would sweep the city."
Mr. Patterson had scored his mark. The ex-Minister was silent and thoughtful.
"The Republic is like an iceberg," he said presently, "a dozen years above water, but a century below. We shall be able to handle our difficulties--Don't you think so, Mary?" he added lightly, as they went out.
"Papa," said Mary, as they walked across the main street, "I met Sir John Dacre at Arundel House when I was visiting Lucy Arundel last year, and I can assure you he is not an evil-minded man."
"Indeed!" answered the father, rather amused at the relation; "you like him, then?"
"Very much, indeed. He is a perfect old-fashioned cavalier, and the most distinguished-looking man I ever saw, except you."
Her father laughed at the unconscious flattery.
"And the very oldest men are constantly consulting him," continued Mary, who was on a subject which evidently interested her.
There was something in Mary's voice that made her father glance down at her face. But he did not pursue the subject.
The months rolled on in this unrestful peace, and day by day it grew clear that the internal troubles of the Republic were forming a dangerous congestion.
Richard Lincoln again became an attentive reader of the newspapers. No man in England studied more carefully the signs of the times. Daily, too, he listened to the denunciation of the aristocrats by his radical old friend.
"They ought to be banished!" exclaimed Mr. Patterson, one morning. "I said it would come to this."
He pointed to an announcement of a meeting of "gentlemen who still retained respect for their Sacred Cause," to be held at Arundel House the following week, the wording of which was rather vague, as if intended to convey more than the verbal meaning. The notice was signed: "John Dacre, Bart."
"Why, that is Mary's friend," thought Richard Lincoln. And when he met Mary, an hour later, he said, half-jestingly:
"Is your friend, Mr. Dacre, a conspirator?"
"He is only an acquaintance, papa; and I hardly know what a conspirator is. But Mr. Dacre is certainly nothing wrong. You should see his face, papa."
"Oh, yes; those dreamers--"
"Papa!" said Mary, almost angrily, "Mr. Dacre is not a dreamer. He is a leader of men--a natural leader--like you!"
The eloquence of voice and gesture surprised Richard Lincoln; but he was too puzzled by Mary's manner to reply. Looking at her as if from a distance, he only remembered, sadly, how little of her life he had seen--how much there was from which he had been left out in the heart of his motherless girl.
Mary read something in his eyes that made her run to him and fold her arms around his neck.
"You were thinking of mamma then," she whispered, with brimming eyes.
"Your face was like hers, Mary,"