t meant something to me?"

"What?"

"It would mean a great deal if you formed an alliance there."

She answered bitterly.

"You are humorous. Alliance! An alliance is for princes. There are other
words for these things you propose. I try not to think what they are. I
dare say I don't know all of them. But there are words."

"It would make me solid with the prince. He would get several
concessions from his brother. They would be slight, but they would mean
a great deal to the Brotherhood."

"I see. You would pull a wire or two in Germany. In Russia, too,
perhaps? You think you would disarm suspicion, if the prince stood by
you. Maybe you'd get into Russia, even. Is that it? It would be dramatic
to get into Russia after you'd been warned."

She was following his mind along, as she often did, creeping with
doubtful steps where he had taken wing. "But still!" She looked at him,
smiling rather wistfully. "Still, you wouldn't throw me to the wolves
for that, would you?"

He met her look with one as candid, and little as she believed in the
accompanying smile, she felt her heart warmed by it. Now he was gazing
about him at the summer prospect.

"I am delighted to find you here," he volunteered. "It's a change. It
will do you good--do us both good."

"Are you quite well?" She hesitated slightly in asking that, but he
turned upon her as if the words had given him a shock of terror or
dismay. In her surprise she even fancied he paled a little.

"What makes you ask that?" he cried. "What do you mean by it?"

"Why, I don't know! You look well, but not quite yourself,
perhaps,--somehow different."

MacLeod took off his hat and wiped his forehead beaded with a moisture
come on it, he knew, at that moment.

"I should like to ask," he said peevishly, "what in the devil you mean.
Have you--heard anything?"

"No," said Rose, entirely amazed. "What is there to hear?"

They had reached the station, and she led him to the bench under a tree
where lovers and their lasses assembled at dusk to see the train come
in. She sat down, dispirited and still wondering, and he stood before
her, all strength, now, and candor, as if he had thrown off his dubious
mood and resolved to be himself.

"About the prince," he was saying. "I want you to think of him. He would
give you experiences such as I never could. You'd live on velvet. You'd
have art, music, a thousand things. He likes your voice. He'd insist on
fostering that. You woul