s. She looked pale and stony-eyed as she sat watching for them,
and her father sighed as he observed her, for he knew her secret. His
brow was anxious. These were troublesome times and a source of concern
to all who loved their country. He knew the government to be composed of
men who thought only of their own interests. This semblance of authority
was the sole bar that prevented the insubordinate masses from overriding
law and decency. How long would President Bagshaw be able to withstand
the popular clamor for a liberty that was akin to pillage? This foolish
conspiracy had biassed thousands of order-loving citizens against
conservative measures. His own party were reduced to a pitiful minority,
and the conduct of the Royalists had caused a reaction which threatened
to engulf the constitution and the laws. And, as if that were not enough
to sadden the soul of an honest man, his only daughter loved the traitor
whose mad enthusiasm had precipitated these ills upon the country.

It was Mary's voice that interrupted his revery.

"They are coming, father."

Lincoln looked out, and as far as the eye could reach the streets were
black with a sea of heads. The glistening of bayonets, the waving flags,
the uniforms, the mad shouts and derisive groans, and above the tumult
the drums beating in full rhythm, made an exciting scene. But all was
lost upon Mary. Her eye had singled out John Dacre, and she was gazing
down at him in speechless agony. He appeared to her wan and sick. His
clothes were torn and covered with mud. But he bore himself as ever,
erect and dignified.

As though by instinct, he looked up to the window, and their eyes met.
He raised his hat with the courtly grace of a gentleman, forgetting for
an instant the situation and the consequences that may accrue to her he
saluted. The glance of the crowd followed his gesture, and many caught
sight of the pale girl and beheld her throw a rose to the handsome
prisoner. It fell wide of him for whom it was meant; indeed, he did not
see the flower fall. It dropped among the crowd, and would have been
trampled in the mud beneath the feet of those who hated her lover had
not Geoffrey Ripon darted from the ranks and snatched it up to his
infinite peril, for the trooper at his side struck him with the butt of
his carbine. "See," he said to Dacre, who was stalking on in unconscious
revery; "see, she has thrown you a rose. Be of good cheer, man." And
Geoffrey could not help thin