“You are misjudging me, Chevalier,” remonstrated Mr Judson, against whom the last sentence had been directed. “I feel the wrong done as deeply as you do, although the study of prophecy had warned me that some blow of the kind might be expected.” “At least leafe us our prophecies!” cried the Chevalier. “May we not interpret dem in our own way, or must de renegades steal dem also?” “We have no wish to rob you of them; but you must not try to exclude us Hebrew Christians from the heritage of Israel. Yours are the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the promises; but they are ours, too. Don’t refuse our help. I think you have no idea of the deep interest taken in the Jewish question in Evangelical circles in England. Give us leave to do what we can to arouse these English friends of Zion, and stimulate them to action. Believe me, when the facts are fully known, there will be such a strong feeling throughout the country, with regard to the action of Scythia, that the Government will be forced to insist on her withdrawing from Jerusalem.” “Accept help from de apostate? Nefer, son off a traitor! I will unite wid Christians, wid agnostics, wid Reformed Chews, wid de Adfersary himself, in de cause off Zion, but not wid you. You hef no part in de congregation off Israel.” “Come, Chevalier,” said Lady Caerleon, laying her hand on his clenched fist, as he shook it furiously at Mr Judson, “you are over-excited. Rest a little, and have a cup of tea,” she motioned the young people away, “and then we will talk things over quietly, and see what can be done.” “Have you thought what all this will mean to Uncle Cyril?” asked Philippa of Mansfield, as they left the room together. He nodded gravely. “I know. He came into my mind first thing. It’s awful.” “To see all his work undone, and to know that he can’t put it right!” wailed Philippa, breaking down suddenly. “I think his heart will break, or--or----” the more terrible fear remained unuttered. “Do you know,” said Mansfield diffidently, “I don’t think it will break him altogether. It might have done once, but he has some one else to think of now. He will have his wife to comfort and take care of, and that helps a man, Phil.” “‘It is very good for strength, To know that some one needs you to be strong,’” reflected Philippa. “Oh, dear!” she cried, with a watery smile, “I’m quoting poetry again, just as Uncle Cyril told me not to.” It is possible that Philippa’s anxiety might have been somewhat relieved if she could have read a confidential letter from Queen Ernestine to her mother, written some months later:--