In London, full of new fire, Aaron throws away no time. Each day he is closeted with Mulgrave, Castlereagh and Canning. He goes to Holland House, and its noble master is seized with the fever for Montezuman conquest. The inventive Earl of Bridgewater--who is radical and goes readily to novel enterprises--catches the Mexican fury. The spirit of Cortez is abroad; the nobility of England fall quickly in with Aaron’s Western design. It will mean an augmentation of the world’s peerage. Also, Mexico should furnish an admirable grazing ground for second sons. Aaron’s affairs go swimmingly; he is full of hopeful anticipation. He writes the lustrous Theo at the “Oaks” that, “save for the unforeseen,” little Aaron Burr Alston shall yet wear an imperial crown as Aaron II. Save for the unforeseen! The reservation is well put in. As Aaron sits in conference, one foggy London evening, with Mulgrave and Castlereagh, who have become principal figures in those Mexican designs, Canning comes hurriedly in. “I am from the Foreign Office,” says he, “and I come with bad news. There is a lion in our path--two lions. Secret news was just received that Napoleon has driven the king and queen from Madrid, and established his brother Joseph on the Spanish throne. Mexico by that: stroke belongs to the Bonapartes; they will hardly consent to its loss.” “That is one lion,” observes Mulgrave; “now for the other.” “The other is England,” proceeds Canning. “Already we are mustering our forces, and enlisting ships, to drive the Corsican out of Spain. We are to become the allies of the royal outcasts, and restore them to Spanish power. I need not draw the inference. As Spain’s ally, fighting her battles against the French in the Peninsula, England will no more permit the loss of Mexico than will Napoleon.” Aaron listens; a chill of disappointment touches his strong heart. He understands how wholly lost are his hopes, even before Canning is through talking. He had two strings to his bow; both have snapped. No chance now of either France or England aiding him. His prospects, so bright but the moment before, are on the instant darkened. “Delay! always delay!” he murmurs. Then his courage mounts again; the chill is driven from his heart. He is too thoroughbred to despond, and quickly pulls himself together. “Yes,” says he, “the word you bring shuts double doors against us. The best we may do is wait--wait for Napoleon to win or lose in Spain. Should England hurl him back across the Pyrenees, we may resume our plans again.” “Indubitably,” returns Canning. “Should England save Spain from the Corsican, she might well lay claim to the right of disposing of Mexico as a recompense for her exertions.” Thus, for the time, by force of events in far-off Spain, is Aaron compelled to fold away his ambitions.