hath
equality to do with it? Is it so--that love is only right between
those whose purses tip the scale alike? Nay, that would be a
sacrilege, for this mortal love of ours is the one thing which lifts
us from the earth. Doth God not love the most unworthy of his
creatures? Would it be just to say that salvation should be meted only
to those who are the Creator's equal? Who of us, then, would escape
the flame? Not so," she continued, her eyes ablaze with the intensity
of her emotion. "It is that very affection bestowed upon us by our God
that lifts us poor mortals into fellowship with him. Love knows no
laws of title, tithes or wealth, and by the very act of loving, the
peasant rightly seats himself beside the king. Ah, think not, dear
father," she cried, falling on her knees, "that I would lightly cast
aside a wish of thine. Dwell but upon the love that thou once felt,
and remember it is she, the reflection of that self-same love, who
seeks thy aid."

There was silence, broken only by the sobs of the kneeling girl.
Fawkes regarded his daughter with an air of evident surprise, not
unmixed with anxiety in anticipation of what might follow; for every
action showed she was wrought up to the highest state of excitement
and earnestness. After a moment he said in a quiet voice: "I trust
these hot words of thine are but the outcome of some foolish fancy,
which, like the silly scorpion, will kill itself with its own
violence. But thou hast not told me all; until I am fully advised, my
counsel can be but scant. What name hath he? What title doth he hold?
For by thy speech he must be noble?"

"Herbert Effingston," replied the girl.

"I know not that name," answered the other, after a moment's musing.
"And his title?"

"Viscount Herbert Effingston, son of Lord Monteagle."

"Thou hast indeed flown high," Fawkes cried, with a sudden outburst of
passion. "Because I love thee I would wish thee dead, aye, dead," he
continued, fiercely, raising himself from the chair, "rather than have
thee bear the hated name of Monteagle."

"But thou knowest no evil of him," cried the girl, springing to her
feet. "He is good; he is true and noble; aye, and hear me, it was he
who saved my life--a life thou lovest. I know what thou wouldst say,
but the son is not holden for his father's sins; he is not----"

"But he is of the brood," thundered Fawkes, now thoroughly aroused;
"the litter of the jackal will eat the holy dead left by its
sire--'ti