The General, who had taken his old friend's lecture in good part, nodded: "Of course he is. Isn't nearly every man, in both services? Do you suppose we want an army of Amazons armed with lethal weapons to keep in order?" "What about the Corps of Commissionaires?" "Being their Commander, I ought to know. Seventy per cent. of 'em, at least, are dead against petticoat government. They're good chaps, and they've seen good service. They don't like the way the country is being run any more than you or I do. You take my word for that." The Judge mused for a moment, tipping the ash from his cigar. "What about the old Household troops?" he asked. "Same story. But what can we do without a leader in Parliament? and suppose, after all, poor Renshaw is dead?" Sir Robert Herrick suddenly abandoned his careless bearing, threw away his cigar, and took from his pocket a letter written on foreign notepaper. "Listen," he said, "both of you," and lowering his voice, he read the letter, slowly and distinctly so that every word was understood. Then he twisted it into a spill and burnt it bit by bit. They sat for a few moments in silence. Then from the General, whose fierce little eyes seemed starting from his head under the bristling white eyebrows, there came a sort of gasping exclamation: "God bless my soul! Why not?" Then, after a pause, dropping into the familiar style of their early days: "You know, Bob, there's risk in it. I'm with you to the last. I'm with you; but there's risk in it, we must remember that." "Yes, there's risk in it," answered Sir Robert, gravely. "We must count the cost. But the risk and the cost are not half what they were in other days, when men were ready to die for their country and their cause. If Tower Hill could talk it could tell many a tale of men who were faithful unto death. If the block could unfold its secrets; if the red axe could speak, there'd be some stern lessons for modern men to ponder on. Did you ever read how Balmerino faced the headsman after Culloden? Come what may, we shouldn't have to face the axe, Hartwell." "Hanging would be no improvement," growled the General. "Still, mind this, I'm with you heart and soul, if we can work it out." "I don't think we should have to face the hangman either," said the Judge quietly. "We might, perhaps, have to spend the evening of our days behind prison bars. Even that is doubtful. Nothing succeeds like success. What's treason under one rule becomes loyalty under another. History has illustrated that over and over again?" "What age would Renshaw be by this time?"