Delia sank to her knees on the stone floor, and her fingers fumbled with the rosary at her breast. She was uplifted, carried out of herself; as though those candles could burn forever, till the angels’ heads should speak and bursting from their stone, pull the church about them in a great shout for judgement. Delia felt her senses swoon within her; she shook and shuddered as she knelt. “Ah, God, make me worthy of that man’s love!” she prayed passionately. “For I have not deserved this happiness!” CHAPTER XVI A LAMPOON ANSWERED Mr. Wedderburn entered the parlor of “The Sleeping Queen,” true to his appointed time. He found alone, and busily writing, Sir Perseus, who greeted him cordially in his pleasant, blunt manner. Mr. Caryl, he said, had been summoned by his grace of Berwick, but he expected his return shortly, and though he, Sir Perseus, actually had the papers Mr. Wedderburn was to carry to France, it would be better if the emissary would wait and see Mr. Caryl. Mr. Wedderburn gave a short answer and flung himself into the chair by the fire; he was obviously in an ill-humor. Sir Perseus talked of the plot and the promising prospects of success; he praised Mr. Caryl’s vast labor and skill in the cause of King James, and hinted that the time was not far distant when the devotion of His Majesty’s adherents would be rewarded by seeing him enjoy his own again. Mr. Wedderburn briefly assented to these remarks and stared moodily into the fire. Once they were interrupted by the entrance of the printer, who laid down a packet of pamphlets and silently withdrew. Sir Perseus began sorting them. “Delia is late,” he remarked. “You may have seen her if you came through the Abbey—she often goes there.” “Yes, I saw her,” answered Mr. Wedderburn gloomily. “Mr. Caryl, too, is late.” “Are you pressed for time?” asked Sir Perseus. The other glanced at the clock. “The boat is to call for me to-morrow noon,” he said, “and I have to get to Romney—a delay would be impolitic.” “It will be unnecessary,” answered Sir Perseus readily. “I have the papers—I am sure Mr. Caryl would see the desirability of your running no risk of delay.” He went to a box in the corner, unlocked it and lifted out a flat leathern case. Mr. Wedderburn turned in his chair and watched him as he brought it to the table and showed the contents. “This, sir—” Sir Perseus laid a bulky sealed packet down, “is the letter to His Majesty from his supporters in England, assuring him of their aid should he land an English army—it is what he asked for to show Louis.” “It contains the names of all the conspirators?” asked Mr. Wedderburn. “We have all, from the highest to the humblest, signed it,” was the answer, given with a smile of satisfaction. “It should please his Majesty and satisfy Louis. This is Mr. Caryl’s letter and report to the King—this the Duke of Berwick’s—these three papers are all, Mr. Wedderburn.”