stammered some incoherent syllables, and tried to bend his knees, but
they knocked together, trembling. He doffed his hat, and, with the
sea-breeze blowing his thin white hair about his temples, stood looking
at the King.

"I am sorry for your master," said the man with the beard. "But--it was
useless. Was it not useless, my dear?" he added, turning to Mrs. Carey.

She laughed contemptuously, but made no reply, and the two resumed their
promenade upon the deck. Reynolds watched them a long time sadly. She
seemed to have complete control over the man, and Reynolds noticed that
he even brought her a footstool, when she sat upon her sea-chair upon
the deck. No one among the passengers seemed to know him or notice him;
but many an admiring glance was turned upon Mrs. Carey. "Curse the
jade!" said Reynolds to himself. Now, indeed, he saw that it was all
true, and felt for the first time that his master would never come back
to Ripon House. But he could not understand it. To say that the sun fell
from the heavens would be but a poor simile to describe the effect this
interview produced on the old man's mind. He sat like one dazed through
the rest of the voyage. And King George, passing him, saw the old man
sitting there, and felt ashamed, abased, before the look of the old
servant. Only Mrs. Carey had a proud sparkle in her evil eyes, and
gloated in spirit at the message that the man would take to his master
back in England. And when, on the fifth day, they landed in Boston, she
got into a carriage and drove off with the King, and Reynolds saw her
wave her jewelled hand at him from the window.

He himself asked for the house of Mr. Abraham Windsor. Mr. Windsor, like
most rich Americans, had a winter house in Boston, a plantation in
Florida, a palace in Mexico, a shooting-box in the mountains of Montana,
and other arrangements for circumventing the American climate; and
Reynolds was driven to a great stone house, with court and gardens,
fronting on a park. He asked for Miss Windsor; the servant looked at him
curiously, but bade him wait.

Reynolds was tired with the voyage and the bustle and hurry of arriving;
and this great city, this great America, so fine, so bright, so rich,
made him sad and depressed. What likelihood was there, he thought, that
this gay, luxurious American would think or care for his poor master
over in Dartmoor Jail? But, as he looked up, he started with
astonishment. Hung upon the wall was a water-co