"You are very generous," he answered, so humbly that Audrey was disarmed, and turned to him with all her old sweetness. "We women are forbid to fight or to speak for our country," she said. "You will not grudge us the right to suffer somewhat for her liberties." He looked at her with tender admiration. "Methinks you are on the road to be one of Mr. Rogers's disciples," he said. She laughed, and for a moment forgot her coldness. "Ay, 'tis perilous to spend so many hours with a madman; very like 'tis catching." "I was of Mr. Rogers's mind in some things before I even knew him," said Richard. "May I tell you how I learned to be of his mind concerning the liberties of women?" "I knew not any one else preached such doctrines," she said. "I learned them from a little maid who fell once into a lily pool," he answered. "I learned from the thought of her to honour all women after another fashion than that which I saw common. I will not boast 'twas constancy; very like it was because so few children came to our house, save my uncle's babes, who died ere they left their nurse's arms; but the memory of that little maid abode with me, and sat with me by camp fires, and kept me company on marches, and the desire to be fit for her company taught me some of the things which Mr. Rogers dares to preach. And she abode with me till last Sunday, and then she vanished, because I knew then that the desire of mine eyes was no more a little maid, but a woman grown." "Oh," she cried, "this is, indeed, madness, for it was by chance only that you came to Inglethorpe." "Ay, it seems as though it were chance on the face of it. But that kindly chance, perchance the beckoning of the dead hand, hath but hastened the meeting I sought, for I was on my way to seek you in the plantations. Here is my witness," he continued, taking a letter from his breast. "When I fled from London I carried this with me, that it might be mine advocate with your father. It seemed to me scarce honourable to show it you in England, and force myself on you after such a fashion; but seeing the turn things have taken, it is your right to see it. It will at least bear me witness that this chance is but the sequel of what hath gone before." The letter bore the address: "To my loving friend, Major-General Harrison. These----" It was sealed with the Perrient coat-of-arms. The letter from the dead man to his dead friend had come back. A sudden memory flashed across Audrey. "You say all this because your minister bade you," she cried. "Do you, indeed, think me so docile?" he answered, with a laugh that was almost angry. "I know not what to think of any one," she answered piteously, while two great tears ran down her face.