"Dunraven was at the bottom of it," I said. "He thought that, with me out of the way, he could win Margaret, but I thank Heaven that his plans have miscarried, and that she has bestowed her love upon a noble gentleman of worth and merit. Old friend, this is no time for concealment or coldness between us--from the bottom of my heart I congratulate thee, and wish thee joy!" and I held out my hand to him. He took it, and squeezed it between both of his own. "Thank thee, old man," he said huskily. "None but a heart of true steel such as thine could bear this grief so nobly. But I fear that thou art mistaken, for never has the lady given me any cause to think that she regarded me as more than a friend; thou hast misinterpreted her words." "No," I answered, "she loves thee; she as good as told me that. What didst thou expect--that the lady would propose to thee?" I smiled at him. "Pluck up courage, good sir, make one brave charge, and the field is thine." "I would I thought so," he said doubtfully. "But," I said, "'faint heart ne'er won fair lady.' Put on a bold front, I have never found thee timid; corner her and force her to listen to thee." He looked at me, his face flushed and happy. "And thou dost think of me with thyself at death's door!" he cried, "while I sit here like a mummy. Listen--old Sir Henry DeGray thinks much of thee, as thou dost know, and he has consented to aid us in thy escape. The plan is this. After I have left, dost thou wait about fifteen minutes, then beat upon the door. The man who will open it is drunk. Knock him down, take his keys away from him, and put him in thy place; then don his cloak and walk boldly out into the hall. Sir Henry awaits thee there. Say nothing, but follow him to the door. I shall be outside and will guide thee to where Governor White lies at anchor in the Thames, ready to set sail for the golden Virginia. Once over there thou art safe, and canst remain until the coast is clear here; then thou canst return to England." "'Tis a bold scheme, Bobby, and I thank thee. But why should I go? Life holds naught so precious for me, that I should cling to it so strongly. There is nothing for me beyond the seas, in that strange and barbarous land, with its painted savages and fierce beasts of prey. What could I do, should I reach it alive? No, leave me to my fate--and go!" "Thomas!" he cried, "if thou carest not for thyself, think of thy friends. Spare me this last blow--spare me, or I shall go mad! Think of Margaret, and for her sake go," and he stretched out his hands imploringly to me. Silence reigned in the little room. I was thinking of her; what would she care? Why should I go out into a strange and unknown land to begin life anew, with no one besides me save only the Indians and wild beasts; to drag out a few miserable years of pain and sorrow. A life such as this was not worth the effort--no, the game was not worth the candle.