But the Prince is coming, and
fast. Is he not?"

"Not just yet, I think," said Mr Raymond, with an odd look in his eyes.

"Why, we hear it from all quarters," said I; "and the red ribbons are
all getting white."

Mr Raymond smiled. "Rather a singular transformation, truly. But I
think the ribbons will be well worn before the young Chevalier reviews
his army in Hyde Park."

"I will not believe it!" cried I. "The Prince must be victorious! God
defends the right!"

"God defends His own," said Mr Raymond. "Do you see in history that He
always defends the cause which you account to be right?"

No; I could not say that.

"How can you be an opponent of the Cause?" I cried--I am afraid,
shifting my ground.

He smiled again. "I can well understand the attraction of the Cause,"
said he, "to a young and enthusiastic nature. There is something very
enticing in the son of an exiled Prince, come to win back what he
conceives to be the inheritance of his fathers. And in truth, if the
Old Pretender were really the son of King James,--well, it might be more
difficult to say what a man's duty would be in that case. But that, as
you know, is thought by many to be at best very doubtful."

"You do not believe he is?" cried I.

"I do not believe it," said Mr Raymond.

I wondered how he could possibly doubt it.

"Nor is that all that is to be considered," he went on. "I can tell
you, young lady, if he were to succeed, we should all rue it bitterly
before long. His triumph is the triumph of Rome--the triumph of
persecution and martyrdom and agony for God's people."

"I know that," said I. "But right is right, for all that! The Crown is
his, not the Elector's. On that principle, any man might steal money,
if he meant to do good with it."

"The Crown is neither George's nor James's, as some think," said Mr
Raymond, "but belongs to the people."

Who could have stood such a speech as that?

"The people!" I cried. "The mob--the rabble--the Crown is theirs! How
can any man imagine such a thing?"

"You forget, methinks, young lady," said Mr Raymond, as quietly as
before, "that you are one of those of whom you speak."

"I forget nothing of the kind," cried I, too angry to be civil. "Of
course I know I am one of the people. What do you mean? Am I to
maintain that black beetles are cherubim, because I am a black beetle?
Truth is truth. The Crown is God's, not the people's. When He chose to
make the present