'Thank you, Constance; you have given me one piece of intelligence. I confess I was uncertain about the Guards. And now, dear child,'--he called her, the late Home Secretary, 'dear child,'--'as this is a solemn night, and we have much to think of and to do ... one word before we part. Constance, you have by this act of yours, cast in your lot with us, because you thought to save my life. Everything is risked upon to-morrow's victory. If we fail we die. Are you ready to die with me?' She made no reply. The old feeling, the overwhelming force of the man, made her cheek white and her heart faint. She held out her hands. He took her--before all those witnesses--in his arms, and kissed her on the forehead. 'Stay with us, my darling,' he whispered; 'cast in your lot with mine.' She had no power to resist, none to refuse. She was conquered; Man was stronger than Woman. 'Children,' said the Bishop solemnly, 'you shall not die, but live.' Constance started. She knew not this kind of language, which was borrowed from the Books of the Ancient Faith. 'There are many things,' said the Bishop, 'of which you know not yet, Lady Carlyon. After to-morrow we will instruct you. Meantime it is late; the Chief has business; I would be alone. Go you with my daughters and rest, if you can, until the morning.' The very atmosphere seemed strange to Constance: the young men in authority, the women submissive; this old man speaking as if he were a learned divine, reverend, grave, and _accustomed to be heard_; and, outside, the voices of men ringing, of arms clashing, of music playing,--all the noise of a camp before it settles into rest for the night. 'Can they,' Constance whispered to Grace Ingleby, looking round her outside the tent--'will they _dare_ to fight these terrible and cruel Convict Wardens?' 'Oh, Lady Carlyon!' Grace replied, 'you do not know, you cannot guess, what wonderful things Lord Chester has done with the men in the last fortnight. From poor, obedient slaves, he has made them men indeed.' 'Men!' Constance saw that she could not understand the word in the sense to which she had been accustomed. 'Surely you know,' Grace went on, 'that our object is more than we have ventured to proclaim. We began with the cry of "Youth for the Young." That touched a grievance which was more felt, perhaps, in country districts, where men retained some of their independence, than in towns. But we meant very much more. We shall abolish the Established Church, and the supremacy of Woman. Man will reign once more, and will worship, after the manner of his ancestors, the real living Divine Man, instead of the shadowy Perfect Woman.' 'Oh!' Constance heard and trembled. 'And we--what shall we do?' 'We shall take our own place--we shall be the housewives; we shall be loving and faithful servants to men, and they will be our servants in return. Love knows no mastery. Yet man must rule outside the house.' 'Oh!' Constance could say no more.