‘I cannot accept his Majesty’s clemency without consulting my counsel,’ replied Mercia after a pause: ‘the case is in readiness, he informs me, and witnesses are fully prepared to establish my innocence. I will therefore remain here until I have had a consultation with him. Be good enough to send for him at once, and we two will consider the matter.’ While the governor of the prison was despatching his messenger to the barrister, Swami’s brain-wave had in the meantime reached Mercia; causing her to upset her plans somewhat; for she found herself being impelled by a strong desire to regain her freedom without delay. Intimating her change of design to the governor, she took her departure from the prison; and hiring a cab from the nearest public stand,—for electricity did not do away with the Jehu, it only altered the motive-power of his chariot—she instinctively gave orders to drive to the great Soul-reader, and ere long found herself at his door. ‘Why have I come hither?’ she asked herself, as she was being led through the beautiful conservatory, which was brilliantly illumined by electricity, for the sun had gone down by this time. ‘What has brought me here?’ she murmured again to herself. ‘What brings everybody hither?’ whispered Reason in her ear. ‘Yes, yes,’ she replied mentally to her prompter, ‘of course I have come to consult the great man in my difficulty. I seek his advice and forewarning concerning the course I ought to pursue to-morrow. This is a great emergency. No barrister can determine how the trial will end; for Justice hath so many ways of turning that the most righteous cause runs great risks in a law court. My case is not an ordinary one; my counsel has had no experience in opposing the suit of an Emperor, for his own Sovereign is his opponent! The whole thing bristles with difficulties throughout.’ A few seconds sufficed for these reflections, for the motions of the brain are intensely rapid: she had only proceeded a few steps when Swami, who had come out to meet her, greeted her with the most profound respect. His whole deportment displayed the deepest reverence of her, while his countenance was irradiated with the light of a great joy. ‘Welcome, sweet Lady!’ he murmured softly, ‘wilt thou graciously come hither?’ Saying which he conducted her into his library, displaying the utmost deference towards her, the while; then leading her to the softest couch he begged her to be seated. ‘Thou art Dayanand Swami, the great Soul-reader, and I am Mercia Montgomery, the late Astronomer Royal,’ she faltered out, hardly knowing what to say, she felt so singularly disturbed in her mind. ‘I have heard great accounts of thine attainments,’ replied Swami, endeavouring to check his excitement, ‘I have long desired the opportunity of meeting with England’s rarest lady.’ Mercia looked at him earnestly for a moment; then blushed, and an instant later recovering herself, she smiled archly—