"Bosh!" said Brandon, at the end. "You were angry--the Earl was angry, (and, properly, so) and the ship sailed before he cooled, or you had time to show repentance. Come home with me. It is the easiest way, all around. Stay here, and, sooner or later, the real Parkington will arise from his grave to plague you. You cannot explain--no explanation, with a dead man and a grave in it, will be accepted. The story will not down--and even though you do marry Miss Marbury, and she knows the truth, she will always doubt you. For my part, I fail to see how you are to shift names, and hope to stay in Maryland. To my mind, you must masquerade always, or move on. So, why not move on--to England? Your sire's anger will have had time to cool. You throw yourself on his mercy--promise to sin no more. And, behold! the returned prodigal and the fatted calf!" "You paint a pretty picture!" was the laughing answer; "but you do not know the Earl of Doncaster. There is about as much chance for my forgiveness, as there is for you to become King." "A trifle overstated," returned Brandon; "there is no chance, whatever, of Parliament altering the succession in my favor." "And no chance, whatever, of the Earl altering the judgment he has passed." "You are hard to convince," said Brandon. "Yet why not make the effort? The family may be done with you, as he said, but, unless you offend again, the prosecution is not likely. Moreover, you must not overlook the fact, that there are only two lives between you and the title." "Two lives, when I left England--with another coming, and a sister-in-law who promises to be as prolific as a rabbit. Oh, no! I have no chance for the title--my brother and his wife will take good care of that." "Well, come with me, anyway," Brandon urged. "Granting all that you say, it is better than living under another man's name--and your father is not immortal. Or, if I cannot persuade you to return, then go to some other Colony, under your own name, or, at least, under no other man's, and settle down." De Lysle laughed. "I like the danger of it, just as you liked the danger that was Long-Sword's." "But, having come to my senses, _I_ am going to get away from Long-Sword, and become, once more, a reputable member of society." "You can go back--you have never, to society's knowledge, broken with her. You simply disappeared. Society knows me, however, for a criminal." "Society has a short memory--she has forgotten, long ago." "Well, I have ten days to consider before your ship sails," said De Lysle. "And will you consider--honestly consider?" asked Brandon. "I will--or I will play you whether I go or whether I stay." "Still the gambler!" commented Brandon. "Well, if it come to the pinch, we will play--but what is the good in playing--except on the voyage home?" XVI THE CRESCENT AND THE STAR Whitehall, the country residence of Governor Sharpe, lay on the banks of the Chesapeake, about ten miles north of Annapolis.