"I have not used the name of Cathley for many years," he said. "Was it likely that I should own to it there, in the heart of London, with a price upon my head, and half a dozen people within earshot? I came back to England at the risk of my life, on a special errand. I scarcely dared to hope that I might meet any of you. I just wanted twelve hours here--" "Stop, lad!" Dilwyn interrupted. "What's that about a price on your head? You've missed none of our letters, by any chance?" "Letters?" Sir Denis repeated. "I have had no word from this country, not even from Timothy here, for over three years and a half." There was a little murmur of wonder. The truth was beginning to dawn upon them. "It'll be the censor, maybe," Michael Dilwyn murmured. "Tell us, Denis Cathley, what brought you back, then? What was this special errand you spoke of?" "Nothing I can discuss, even with you," was the grim answer. "It was a big risk, in more ways than one, but if to-night keeps calm I'll bring it off." "You've had no letters for three years," Michael Dilwyn repeated. "Why, d----n it, boy," he exclaimed, striking the table with his fist, "maybe you don't know, then? You haven't heard of it?" "Heard of what?" Sir Denis demanded. "Your pardon!" "My--what?" "Your pardon," was the hoarse reply, "signed and sealed a year ago, before the Dublin matter. Things aren't as bad as they were! There's a different spirit abroad.--Pass him the Madeira, Hagan. Sure, this has unnerved him!" Sir Denis drank mechanically, drank until he felt the fire of the old wine in his veins. He set the glass down empty. "My pardon!" he muttered. "It's true," Hagan assured him. "You were one of a dozen. I wrote you with my own hand to the last address we had from you, somewhere out on the west coast of America. Dilwyn's right enough. England has a Government at last. There are men there who want to find the truth. They know what we are and what we stand for. You can judge what I mean when I tell you that we speak as we please here, openly, and no one ventures to disturb us. Denis, they've begun to see the truth. Dilwyn here will tell you the same thing. He was in Downing Street only last week." "I was indeed--I, Michael Dilwyn, the outlaw!--and they listened to me." "The days are coming," Hagan continued, "for which we've pawned our lands, our relatives, and some of us our liberty. Please God there isn't one here that won't see a free Ireland! We've hammered it into their dull Saxon brains. It's been a long, drear night, but the dawn's breaking." "And I am pardoned!" Sir Denis repeated wonderingly. "Where have you been to these three years, man, that you've heard nothing?" Michael Dilwyn asked.