phet solemnly; and something in
his manner made May remark to Jimmy, when he came to take her home,
"What a lot of excellent people are spoilt by their consciences!"

Quisante had disappeared, engulfed in a vortex of triumphant supporters,
carried off by arms linked in his, or perhaps hoisted in uncomfortable
grandeur on enthusiastic but unsteady shoulders. The street was densely
packed, and Jimmy's apparently simple course of returning straight to
the hotel proved to be a work of much time and difficulty. But the stir
of life was there, all around them, and May's eyes grew bright as she
felt it. Now at least it could not seem a difficult question whether the
result were worth the effort; triumph drove out such doubts.

"I'm so glad we've won; I'm so glad we've won," she kept repeating in
simple girlish enthusiasm as Jimmy steered her through the crowd,
heading towards the Bull whenever he could make a yard or two. "Though
I'm awfully sorry for Lady Mildmay," she added once.

So long were they in getting through that on their arrival they found
that Quisante had reached home before them. His journey had been
hurried; he had been taken faint and the rejoicings were of necessity
interrupted; he was upstairs now on the sofa. May ran up, followed by
Fanny and Jimmy, passing many groups of anxious friends on the way.
Quisante was stretched in a sort of stupor; he was quite white, his eyes
were closed. She knelt down by him and called him by his name.

"He's quite done up," said Jimmy, and he went to the sideboard and got
hold of the brandy.

"Do keep everybody out," called May, and Fanny shut the door oh
half-a-dozen inquisitive people. Both she and Jimmy were looking very
serious; May grew frightened when she turned and saw their faces.

"He's only tired; he'll be all right again soon," she protested. "Give
me a little brandy and water, Jimmy."

They stood looking at her while she did her best for him; a slight
surprise was in their faces; they had never seen her minister to him
before. Did she really love him? The question escaped from Jimmy's eyes,
and Fanny's acknowledged without answering it. Presently Quisante sighed
and opened his eyes.

"Drink some of this," said his wife low and tenderly. "Do drink some."
She was kneeling by him, one arm under his shoulder, the other offering
the glass.

"We've done it, haven't we?" he murmured, as she tilted the glass to his
lips. The drink revived him; with her help he h