"Yes, Reynolds, I am alive, and glad to see you," he added, as he saw the tears in the old man's eyes. "Sit down." Geoffrey pushed a chair toward him; but the old man would as soon have thought of sitting down in the presence of the King. "And how is Ripon House?" "Ripon House, your lordship, is much the same. I think I may succeed in letting it to one of your lordship's old tenants." Geoffrey looked up, surprised; then he remembered that by Ripon House Reynolds meant the lodge. "With your lordship's permission I can get thirty guineas a year for it," Reynolds added. "By all means, Reynolds," said Geoffrey. "But, Reynolds, I must have no 'your lordship' any more. That is done forever. I was foolish ever to have consented to it." "Yes, your lordship," replied Reynolds, simply. "I knew your lordship would consent, so I have brought the first quarter's rent in advance." And the old man laid eight five-dollar gold pieces on the table. Geoffrey grasped his hand. "Thank you, Reynolds," said he. The old man was more embarrassed than if he had kissed him. "Your lordship--your lordship is--" Reynolds stammered, and Geoffrey interrupted him. "None of that, remember;" he lifted a finger pleasantly. "But I asked you about Ripon House." "The old castle (it was not half so old as the lodge) is shut up, earl," said he. "The American is in his own country." "Reynolds, do you know what became of the King?" "No, your lord--Earl Brompton." "Or who it was that betrayed us? Some one must have carried all the particulars of the plan to Bagshaw." The old man did not answer for a moment. "Reynolds, have you seen Dacre?" The question was sudden. "Does--does not your lordship know--" he faltered. Geoffrey sprang from his chair. "They shot him." Geoffrey sank back to his seat. The old servant walked to the window, pulling out his handkerchief. Outside was heard the measured step of the turnkey pacing to and fro. "Reynolds, will you carry a letter for me?" said Geoffrey at last. "Think before you answer. You are no longer in my service, you know. I can no longer pay you." "I am always in the earl's service," Reynolds interrupted. "Thank you, Reynolds. The letter is to Mrs. Oswald Carey. You remember her?" Reynolds started. "Forgive me, earl--but does your--your honor know--" The old man spoke in much trouble; Geoffrey looked up in amazement. "Oh, forgive me, Earl Brompton--but--I once told a lie to you. That night--you remember that night when Sir John met your lordship in his room, and I said afterward there had been no one there?" "Yes," said Geoffrey. "What then?" "There was some one there. A lady was there. Mrs. Carey." A terrible light broke upon Geoffrey. It was she that had taken the paper; it was she that was the traitor who had been the cause of Dacre's death. And his old love for her had killed his friend.