room.

"I am finished," and Angela went to the door.

"It would be better we didn't meet again--in any event--not often,"
added Nathaniel.

"Thank you," said Angela, opening the door. He motioned her to close
it, that he had something more to say.

"We'll find you some suitable chaperone. You can spend your winters
abroad, as you have been doing. London for the season--until you're
suitably married. I'll follow out my father's wishes to the letter. You
shall be handsomely provided for the day you marry."

She closed the door with a snap and came back to him and looked him
steadily in the eyes.

"The man I marry shall take nothing from you. Even in his 'last will
and testament' my father proved himself a Kingsnorth. It was only a
Kingsnorth could make his youngest daughter dependent on YOU!"

"My father knew I would respect his wishes."

"He was equally responsible for me, yet he leaves me to YOUR care. A
Kingsnorth!"

"The men MASTERS and the women SLAVES!"

"That is the Kingsnorth doctrine."

"It is a pity our father didn't live a little longer. There are many
changes coming into this old grey world of ours and one of them is the
real, honourable position of woman. The day will come in England when
we will wring from our fathers and our brothers as our right what is
doled out to us now as though we were beggars."

"And they are trying to govern the country of Ireland in the same way.
The reign of the despot. Well, THAT is nearly over too--even as woman's
degrading position to-day is almost at an end."

"Have you finished?"

Once again Angela went to the door. Nathaniel said in a somewhat
changed tone:

"As it is your wish this man should be cared for, I'll do it. When he
is well enough to be moved, the magistrate will take him to jail. But,
for the little while we shall be here, I beg you not to do anything so
unseemly again."

A servant came in to tell Angela the doctor had come. Without a word.
Angela went out to see to the wounded man.

The servant followed her.

Left alone, Nathaniel sat down, shocked and stunned, to review the
interview he had just had with his youngest sister.

CHAPTER VII

THE WOUNDED PATRIOT

When Angela entered the sick-room she found Dr. McGinnis, a cheery,
bright-eyed, rotund little man of fifty, talking freely to the patient
and punctuating each speech with a hearty laugh. His good-humour was
infectious.

The wounded agitator felt the effect of it and