Brown was fully alive to his danger, but with the cool, undaunted heart of a man accustomed to war with obstacles, he sat down calmly to meditate the best course of procedure. To remain a day longer in the city he knew full well was madness, and every hour was fraught with danger. Could he leave here in a land of strangers, alone and unprotected save by one frail woman, the delicate blossom he had cherished as “Love’s lost token,” and borne over the waters to cheer his declining age? How could he talk of a separation of years, perhaps forever, from the gentle creature, whose life was all centered in his—how could she bear this last stroke also? True, he had wealth—treasures of gold and silver; wealth would purchase friends, but dangerous friends, too, he thought, for a lonely orphan girl. He sat deep in thought for a moment longer, then reached his hand and touched a silver bell, exclaiming—“It shall be as _she_ wishes. I will abide _her_ choice at all events!” The ring was speedily answered by a good-looking man-servant. “I here, Massa Brown,” said the ebony, making a full display of ivory. “Is Miss Anna in, Carle?” inquired the master. “Do no! rudder tink she be, Massa.” “Go then, and tell her I would see her. Be quick, Carle, and do you wait until I call, for I shall want you again soon.” A moment after, a fairy-like creature bounded into the presence of her father, and winding her arms caressingly around his neck, waited his pleasure. “You are ill, dear father,” said she at length, observing his pale forehead. “I have wasted all the morning on my pet birds, thinking you were out as usual.” He kissed her cheek fondly, and replied— “I did go out, my child, but quickly returned, for there is danger abroad, and there is no more rest for thy father. ’Tis a mournful summons for thee, darling, but there is no time to be lost in revealing the true cause of it. I must flee speedily, or the new king’s officers will soon bear me back to drop my head at Whitehall. Bear it bravely, Anna, you are my own daughter, and know well the happy days of the Protectorate are ended. There is gold, more than sufficient for all thy wants!” “But, father, _you_ are _my wealth_; all the treasure of this world to me! Whither would you flee, and wherefore leave me behind?” “I know not, daughter—some secret hiding-place where the hand of a Stuart may not reach me, far from the abodes of civilized life. Every thing is to be encountered—want in its worst forms, and you, who have been nurtured in a palace, could poorly cope with cold and hunger! Stay here, my child, amid ease and plenty, and let thy father go forth to meet his fate alone.”