hat he had come to a place where two roads
met.

Charles's heart suffered then "the nature of an insurrection." The old
lawless powers that had once held sway, and had been forced back into
servitude under the new rule of the last few years of responsibility and
honor, broke loose, and spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom of
his heart.

The struggle deepened to a battle fierce and furious. His soul was rent
with a frenzy of tumult, of victory and defeat ever changing sides, ever
returning to the attack.

Can a kingdom divided against itself stand?

He sat motionless, gazing with absent eyes in front of him.

And across the shock of battle, and above the turmoil of conflicting
passions, Ruth's voice came to him. He saw the pale spiritual face, the
deep eyes so full of love and anguish, and yet so steadfast with a great
resolve. He heard again her last words, "I cannot do what is wrong, even
for you."

He stretched out his hands suddenly.

"You would not, Ruth," he said, half aloud; "you would not. Neither will
I do what I know to be wrong for you, so help me God! not even for you."

The dawn was breaking, was breaking clear and cold, and infinitely far
away; was coming up through unfathomable depths and distances, through
gleaming caverns and fastnesses of light, like a new revelation fresh
from God. But Charles did not see it, for his head was down on the
table, and he was crying like a child.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Dare was down early the following morning, much too early for the
convenience of the house-maids, who were dusting the drawing-room when
he appeared there. He was usually as late as any of the young and gilded
unemployed who feel it incumbent on themselves to show by these public
demonstrations their superiority to the rules and fixed hours of the
working and thinking world, with whom, however, their fear of being
identified is a groundless apprehension. But to-day Dare experienced a
mournful satisfaction in being down so early. He felt the underlying
pathos of such a marked departure from his usual habits. It was obvious
that nothing but deep affliction or cub-hunting could have been the
cause, and the cub-hunting was over. The inference was not one that
could be missed by the meanest capacity.

He took up the newspaper with a sigh, and settled himself in front of
the blazing fire, which was still young and leaping, with the enthusiasm
of dry sticks not quite gone out of it.

Charles