"Therefore," interrupted Lord Fordingbridge impatiently, "I will not forget again, Mr. Archibald. Enough!" "Therefore," continued the other, as though no interruption had occurred, still in the cold, low voice and still with the cold grey eyes fixed on his lordship, "it is best you do not forget, at least, at present. Later, if your memory fails you--I have known it treacherous ere now--it will be of little importance. Charles Edward, the Prince of Wales, is at Edinburgh, soon he will be at St. James'; but until he is, remember what we are. You are the Viscount Fordingbridge, but lately succeeded to your father's title, and a convert from his Jacobitism to Hanoverian principles; her ladyship here, who is ever to be depended upon, follows your estimable political principles; her respected father, Mr. Doyle Fane, has, he avers, no politics at all; and I am Mr. Archibald, a Scotch merchant. You will remember?" "_Peste!_ Yes. I will remember. Tutor me no more. Now, Fane, the sea abates somewhat--go and discover if we are near the English coast. And, Mr. Archibald, I have a word to say to my lady here, with your permission. As I am at the expense of this passage, may I ask for a moment's privacy with her? Doubtless the air on the deck will refresh you both." "Precisely," replied the other. "We will not intrude unless it grows again so rough that we cannot remain on deck. Come, Fane." When both had left the cabin Lord Fordingbridge turned to his wife who still sat, as she had done from the beginning of Mr. Archibald's remarks, indifferent and motionless as though in no way interested in what had passed, and exclaimed: "You hear, madam, the circumstances in which I return to my own. 'Tis not too agreeable, I protest. We are Roman Catholics, yet we come as Protestants, Jacobites, yet under the garb and mask of Hanoverians. And in our train a Jesuit priest, arch-plotter, and schemer, who passes as a respectable Scotch merchant. A sorry home coming, indeed!" "If such duplicity is painful to your lordship's mind," his wife remarked, "'twould almost have been best to have remained in exile. Then you would have been safe, at least, and have done no outrage to your--conscience. And, later, when those who are fighting for Prince Charles have re-established him upon his grandfather's throne--if they ever do!--you could have declared yourself without fear of consequences." No word, nor tone of her sneer was lost upon Lord Fordingbridge, and he turned savagely upon her. "Have a care, my lady," he exclaimed, "have a care. There are ways in my power you little dream of by which if your defiance----" "Defiance!" exclaimed her ladyship. "Defiance! You dare to use that term to me. You!" "Ay! Defiance. What! Shall the daughter of Doyle Fane, the broken-down Irish adventurer, the master of the fence school in the Rue Trousse Vache, flout and gibe me--the man who took her from a garret and made her a lady--a peeress. I--I--"