"If you heard it from him, it must be true," she said. "But is he in London?" "Yes; and he ran some risk, as you may guess, to send that message to you." "Duncan is always good," said Flora, with tears in her eyes. "He was not hurt, I hope? Will you see him again?" "He said he was not hurt worth mention." (I began to wonder what size of a hurt Mr Keith would think worth mention.) "Yes, I shall see him again this evening or to-morrow." "Oh, do give him the kindest words and thanks from me," said Flora, commanding her voice with some difficulty. "I wish I could have seen him! Let me tell Annas--she may wish--" and away she went to fetch Annas, while Mr Raymond looked after her with a look which I thought half sad and half diverted. "Will you tell me," I said, "how Mr Keith ran any risk?" "Why, you do not suppose, young lady, that London is in the hands of the rebels?" "The rebels!--Oh, you are a Whig; I see. But the Prince is coming, and fast. Is he not?" "Not just yet, I think," said Mr Raymond, with an odd look in his eyes. "Why, we hear it from all quarters," said I; "and the red ribbons are all getting white." Mr Raymond smiled. "Rather a singular transformation, truly. But I think the ribbons will be well worn before the young Chevalier reviews his army in Hyde Park." "I will not believe it!" cried I. "The Prince must be victorious! God defends the right!" "God defends His own," said Mr Raymond. "Do you see in history that He always defends the cause which you account to be right?" No; I could not say that. "How can you be an opponent of the Cause?" I cried--I am afraid, shifting my ground. He smiled again. "I can well understand the attraction of the Cause," said he, "to a young and enthusiastic nature. There is something very enticing in the son of an exiled Prince, come to win back what he conceives to be the inheritance of his fathers. And in truth, if the Old Pretender were really the son of King James,--well, it might be more difficult to say what a man's duty would be in that case. But that, as you know, is thought by many to be at best very doubtful." "You do not believe he is?" cried I. "I do not believe it," said Mr Raymond. I wondered how he could possibly doubt it. "Nor is that all that is to be considered," he went on. "I can tell you, young lady, if he were to succeed, we should all rue it bitterly before long. His triumph is the triumph of Rome--the triumph of persecution and martyrdom and agony for God's people." "I know that," said I. "But right is right, for all that! The Crown is his, not the Elector's. On that principle, any man might steal money, if he meant to do good with it." "The Crown is neither George's nor James's, as some think," said Mr Raymond, "but belongs to the people." Who could have stood such a speech as that? "The people!" I cried. "The mob--the rabble--the Crown is theirs! How can any man imagine such a thing?"