o
greatness and flourished in greatness for twenty hundred years on one
unvarying order. America has developed under another order, a different
but not a better one."

"That may be, but in less than two hundred years America has reached a
point of wealth, order and peace that England has never approached in
two thousand."

"America," continued Dacre, "had nothing to unlearn. Her people had no
royal traditions--we have no democratic ones."

"There is something in that," said Geoffrey.

"There is everything in it. The Americans are true to their past, while
we are false to ours. We are trampling on the glorious name and fame of
our country. We are recreant to our position, intelligence, to our
fathers' memories--or we shall be if we do not--"

"Do not what?" asked Geoffrey, as Dacre paused.

"If we do not unite and have another revolution!" answered Dacre, slowly
and firmly.

There was a slight sound outside the room, which made Geoffrey raise his
eyes and glance toward the window; but Dacre, now aflame with his
subject, stood before him and arrested his look.

"Ripon, do you think that the nobles, the gentlemen of England, have
lain down like submissive creatures to this atrocious revolt? Do you
think nothing has been done?"

"In Heaven's name, what can be done?" asked Geoffrey.

"What did the Anarchists do when they wanted power?" asked Dacre
fiercely. "They banded together in secret. They swore to be true to each
other to the death. They armed and drilled and prepared their plans.
They watched every avenue, and took advantage of every mistake of ours.
They inflamed the masses against the Royal Family, the Court, the House
of Peers, the landed aristocracy, and when their hour of opportunity
came they raised the cry of revolution, and the government was changed
in a day."

"Well?"

"Well!--we have learned their lesson. What they did we shall do. We
have banded ourselves together. What is that?"

A noise like a creaking door had struck Dacre's ear, and he stopped.
Geoffrey had heard it, too, and instantly jumped up and walked into the
kitchen. Reynolds was not there; but Geoffrey heard him at work in
another room. He returned smiling.

"Either an owl or a ghost, Dacre," he said, looking out on the field.
"There is not a soul but old Reynolds within two miles of this place."

Dacre continued to pace the room, and as he walked he said in a low
voice:

"I have said too much, or not enough, Ripon. Shall