ntlemen, which
Colonel Arundel has drawn up," said Dacre, and he took from an inner
pocket a paper containing about forty names, which he handed to
Geoffrey, who glanced at it rapidly, recognizing nearly all the names,
though he knew few of their owners. Half a score of dukes and earls and
marquises headed the list, including old Bayswater and the unfortunate
Royal Duke who had chosen to remain in England in poverty rather than
share the King's exile in America. Lower down on the list were the names
of simple gentlemen like Featherstone and Sydney.

While Geoffrey was looking at the scroll, Dacre had taken up the old
sword and read the faded inscription tied to the hilt. Geoffrey saw him
and smiled, as he laid the list on the table.

"It is true, Dacre," he said, laying his hand affectionately on his
friend's shoulder. "I thought of the words of that scroll to-night when
I saw you interested in that girl with the beautiful eyes, who sat
beside you."

"Why think of these words?"

"Because she was a commoner's daughter, Dacre; but none the less a noble
English girl, fit match for any aristocrat in Europe."

"Doubtless," answered Dacre, calmly, looking at the silver hilt of the
old sword.

"You have met Miss Lincoln before to-day? Yes--Miss Windsor told me so."

"Yes; I have seen her several times at Arundel House."

"Her father is a good man, Dacre. How will he regard our revolution?"

"As we regarded his, no doubt--as a crime."

"God!" thought Geoffrey, pacing the floor, "how strange that two men so
noble as these should look upon each other as traitors and enemies!"

"Were it not for Richard Lincoln the Monarchy would have been restored
ten years ago. He is a powerful supporter of his class," said Dacre,
slowly.

"Dacre!" said Geoffrey, stopping in front of him, "it is we who are
class men. Richard Lincoln is a patriot!"

Dacre leaned his chin on the old sword, and looked silently into the
fire.

"What will you do with such men as he, should this revolution succeed?"
continued Geoffrey. "They will never submit."

"They must," said Dacre, with compressed lips, "or--" The sentence was
left unspoken.

Geoffrey saw it was no use to argue. He had cast in his lot with Dacre,
and there could be no drawing back.

"Stay with me to-night," said Geoffrey, as his friend was buttoning his
coat. "Reynolds has prepared a room for you."

"No; I must see Featherstone, who returns to London early to-morrow. I
shou