and Bugbee rang the bell. "But he returns at once to
America?" he asked in a low voice.

"That is his purpose--and mine," said the Beauty.

In less than half an hour Bugbee departed in a fly in hot haste to
prepare the yacht for the royal guest; and some minutes later George the
Fifth handed Mrs. Oswald Carey into the banker's closed carriage, and
the pair were driven off to London.

CHAPTER XI.

THE RAISING OF THE FLAG.

Mr. Windsor's guests had all departed, the lights were out in the rooms
so lately filled with the pleasant discord of animated voices, and the
kindly old American host had gone to his rest with the satisfaction of
believing that his last night in England would be enjoyably remembered
by his new friends when he and his daughter were far on their voyage
home.

But Mr. Windsor knew, a few weeks later, that beneath the smooth surface
of his farewell party, as he had seen it, ran a secret current of fatal
force and purpose. He had entertained unaware on that night nearly all
the Royalist leaders, who had taken advantage of his invitation to meet
in a place where suspicion of their movements could not follow.

The gentlemen left Mr. Windsor's house not in groups or even pairs, but
singly. It was remarkable that none of them had a carriage, and that
after leaving the house every one turned and walked in the same
direction.

About an hour after the last guest had gone, in a large house belonging
to a banished earl, where Featherstone had resided for the past two
weeks, there was a full meeting of the Royalist chiefs, including those
who had been at Mr. Windsor's, and many more. They had come singly from
many quarters, but all on foot, and they had entered by a door on a
quiet side street. There were perhaps forty men in all.

Here were old and dignified noblemen, more than one of whom wore
threadbare coats and other signs of actual poverty; and here were young
spirits aflame with the hope of action. Here a lot of antiquated
baronet-squires flock together, and yonder stands a knot of grizzled
colonels with the professional air of men awaiting orders. Here is the
old Duke of Bayswater, listening through his eyeglasses, while Geoffrey
Ripon and Featherstone have a quiet jest with Mr. Sydney.

Shortly after midnight--at about the same moment that Mrs. Oswald Carey
received the bank-notes from Mr. Bugbee--the hum of conversation ceased
in this meeting of the Royalists, and all eyes were turned