oped she had not recognized him. He hated
the woman now; he felt a fear of her, well grounded, after all that had
happened.

For several days after this the weather was bad, and Mrs. Carey came on
deck without her companion. Reynolds avoided her, and she did not seem
to notice him. Yet she had a fascination for him, and he would slyly
watch her from the corners of his eyes, as one looks upon some brilliant
serpent. This was the woman who had wrecked his master's life--who had
betrayed the King. Reynolds wondered where the King was then. He
fancied, with Geoffrey, that he must be dead.

On the fourth day they made the lightship anchored off the Banks, and
stopped for news and letters. Reynolds bought a paper; Mrs. Carey had a
telegram, which he saw her reading with evident interest. His newspaper,
which was a mere resume of the telegrams received in the ocean station,
had a long despatch about the so-called meeting at Aldershot. It said
that George of Hanover was believed to have fled to America, but that it
was not the policy of the government to pursue him.

"You seem interested in your paper, Mr. Reynolds," said a voice at his
shoulder. The old servant stood up, and touched his hat, from habit. It
was Mrs. Carey. She was dressed coquettishly in a sea-green travelling
dress that showed her beautiful figure at its best; her hair was coiled
above her fair neck in two glossy red-brown bands. Reynolds looked into
her deep eyes and hated her. He cared more for his master than for any
woman's eyes. "How did you leave poor Ripon?" she asked.

"My master is in Dartmoor Prison," said Reynolds, sadly.

"Your master is a crazy fool," said the beautiful woman, spitefully.
Reynolds made as if to go, but she detained him. "Why are you going to
America?"

"I have a message from Lord Brompton to the King," said Reynolds.

For fear that she might in some way thwart him, he did not tell her his
real errand.

Mrs. Carey laughed scornfully. "No need to go so far," said she, and she
beckoned with her hand. The stout man with the reddish beard came up,
like some huge, dull animal called by its mistress. His sensuous, fat
face was pallid with seasickness, and as he looked at Mrs. Carey there
was a senile leer in his eye.

"King George," said she, "this is a servant of Lord Brompton's."

The decks were almost deserted, and no one was near enough to overhear
them.

The old man's mouth opened; but he could only stare vacantly. He