n I--when I learned this thing, it shook me so! My brain whirled,
and then I thought of you and called to you."

"There is no service to which you could call me that I would not
thankfully render. I am your friend and your people's friend. There is
one thing more I should like to say to you. Do not fear for him. There
is no reason to believe that this will ever be discovered. The lips of
those who know are sealed."

"Who knows?"

"On our side your uncles, my brother and I,--and your cousin, I think,
guesses. The President, also, is aware--"

She reddened deeply. "I know," she said, in a stifled voice. "The
President, too, is generous--"

"On his--on Mr. Rand's side, certain men whom we need not name. That he
has secured their silence, events have proved, and I take it for granted
that he has been careful to recall and to destroy any writing that might
incriminate. He is, I think, quite safe."

She turned from him and, sitting down by the table, laid her head upon
her arms. He regarded her for a moment with compassion and
understanding, chivalrous and deep, then, moving to the window, stood
there with his face to the evening star. At last she spoke in a broken
and tremulous voice "Mr. Cary--"

He came to her side. "It is a peaceful night, still and bright. You will
sleep, will you not? Leave all this to Time and to the power of
steadfast love! You may yet see in this land the grandeur of the dawn."

"I know that I shall," she answered. "And when I see it, I shall think
reverently of you. It was like you to come, like you to help me so. Now,
good-night!"

She took his hand, and before he could prevent her, raised it to her
lips. "No,--let me! You are generous and you are noble. I acknowledge it
from my heart. Good-night--good-bye!"

He showed for a moment his pent emotion, then strove with and conquered
it. "I will go. Your cousin is from home, and you are alone to-night.
Would you prefer that she should return?"

"No. I had rather be alone."

He took the hand that she gave him, kissed it, and said good-night. When
he was gone and his step had died from the street, she stood for some
moments as he had left her, then, with a sobbing breath, turned to the
table and took the letters from the drawer.

CHAPTER XXVIII

RAND AND MOCKET

Tom Mocket, returning to Richmond twenty-four hours after his friend and
patron, found it too late that evening to see Lewis and to report the
happy winding up of all