As she thought what a blow his death would be, her bosom swelled with anxiety; for every earnest woman sets up an idol in her heart, to be clothed in the trappings of her own belief, which she takes for its native adornments. She sits and keeps pious vigil over it, and weaves ennobling legends concerning it, seeming to become purified by contact with a nobler power, which, after all, is but the reflection of her own better self. That her influence over Theobald was great, Doreen knew, but not so great as his was over her. There seemed to her mind, twisted as it was by circumstance into a sombre shape, something sublime even in the light way in which he wrote of gravest things. His letters were schoolboy documents, full of homely jests, quaint sayings, quotations from bad plays. Yet what a marvellous work was he achieving. A year ago he had gone forth a wanderer, armed with a few pounds and a large stock of hope. He had sailed to New York, narrowly escaping seizure by the crimpers on the sea; had then made for Paris, whither he arrived almost without a penny. He knew scarce a word of French, yet went he straight to Carnot, who, in a satin dressing-gown, was holding _levées_ at the Luxembourg. Partly in broken words, much more by signs, he made known his wishes to the Organiser of Victory, and, through him, to the Directory. They saw in his project for an invasion of Ireland a tempting way of harassing perfidious Albion, but unfortunately their treasury was empty, their armies disorganised, and so they gave to their suppliant a cool reception. But Tone was not to be easily put off. He haunted the antechambers of the ministers, learned their language, prepared statements, suggested plans; importuned all and each in broken jargon, till, amazed at his energy, filled with respect for his pure motives and simple life, they gave him a high place amongst their own officers, and promised that his desires should be gratified. Doreen followed the rapidity of his proceedings with astonished admiration, marvelling that he should work as he worked from sheer love of humankind; was quite persuaded that all he did was right; compared him daily to the men she saw around her--arrogant Clare, swinish Shane, idle, prosaic Terence--and felt almost prepared sometimes, if need were, to cast in her lot (as the chancellor surmised) with her mother's oppressed people, rather than with those of her highly-connected father. Gusts of loathing swept over her soul for the feudal magnificence of the Abbey; she seemed thrown on a bed of roses whose perfume sickened her. The idea of wedding all this splendour while her people groaned, was in itself revolting; to espouse Shane with it, filled the measure of her horror. Rather than submit to my lady's eccentric wish, she was prepared to run away--to hide herself in Connaught, anywhere; and this being comfortably settled, she went on with Theobald's last letter.