He had dreamed of being a minister to France; he was an exile in an unsympathetic land. He had dreamed of restoring dynasties and readjusting the balance of power; he was an alien refugee in a republic where visionaries are not wanted and where opulence gives control. America held nothing for him; Europe had no place; there was not a capital in the whole continent where he could show himself and live. And his mind dwelt upon the contrast between what might have been and what was, he tasted for the first time the full bitterness of isolation and despair. To his present plight any alternative would be preferable--even death. He took the little revolver which lay near him on the table and thoughtfully turned it over and over in his hand. It was as it were a key with which he could unlock the portal to another world, where weariness was unknown, and where every desire was satisfied, or unfelt: and even if there were no other existence beyond this, extinction was not an idea that repelled him now. It would be an "accident"; so easy to come by; so little painful to endure. Should he? Should he not? Should he? He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he did not hear the soft knock at the door nor the servant murmuring the name of a visitor; but becoming conscious of the presence of some one in the room, he looked up suddenly to see a lady by his side. "Is there not some mistake?" he said, rising to his feet. "I do not think I have the pleasure----" She laughed and raised her veil. "Does it make so much difference?" she asked lightly. "Yet, really, Mr. Sabin, you are more changed than I." "I must apologize," he said; "golden hair is--most becoming. But sit down and tell me how you found me out and why." She sank into the chair he brought for her and looked at him thoughtfully. "It does not matter how I found you, since I did. Why I came is easily explained. I have had a cablegram from Mr. Watson." "Good news, I hope," he said politely. "I suppose it is," she answered indifferently. "At least your conspiracy seems to have been successful. It is generally believed that you are dead, and Mr. Watson has been pardoned and reinstated in all that once was his. And now he has sent me this cablegram asking me to join him in Germany and marry him." Dejected as Mr. Sabin was he had not yet lost all his sense of humour. He found the idea excessively amusing. "Let me be the first to congratulate you," he said, his twinkling eyes belying the grave courtesy of his voice. "It is the conventional happy end to a charming romance." "Are you never serious?" she protested. "Indeed, yes," he answered. "Forgive me for seeming to be flippant about so serious a matter as a proposal of marriage. I presume you will accept it." "Am I to do so?" she asked gravely. "It was to ask your advice that I came here to-day."