“My position!” cried she, opening wide her arms. “My position! What won me my position, my rank, my wealth? I will tell you. A thousand years ago, and more, one of my ancestors was a strong man. He made himself great by seizing the rights and property of others. The Government helped him hold on to what he had seized, and during all the thousand years since the Government has helped his descendents hold on to that power and property and keep the disinherited ones, the robbed ones, in subjection. And to-day it is helping me! “People call me beautiful, cultured, noble. If this be true, why is it true? Because for a thousand years thousands of people have toiled, suffered, starved, been beaten down! I am the product of all that misery! Not for a day, not for an hour, would I keep my position were it not for one thing alone. I have a large income, all of which, except what I need to maintain appearances, is now turned over to the revolutionists; were I openly to join the revolutionists, that money, which we need so much, would be confiscated and lost to us. The need of this money forces me to hold my place; otherwise I would be openly in the fight to regain the people their lost rights, to gain them rights they have never had! To win their liberty, and all that liberty will mean! Ah, the people! Our poor maimed and mourning people!” As she spoke there was a vague sense in Drexel of the contrast between them: she the apex of old-world aristocracy, giving her whole soul to the people; he of the over-night American aristocracy, trampling upon the people, giving his whole soul to winning that which she would so gladly throw away. As she finished, standing before him a-tremble with sympathy and passion, her superb beauty illumined by the inspiration of her purpose, he felt himself fairly lifted to his feet; and thrilled, he stretched out an eager hand to her. “And I--I will help you!” he cried. “You help?” Her lips half curled with scorn. “You with such ideals as you expressed the other night!” “Never mind ideals! I will help!” Those eyes of blue searched him narrowly. “If not impelled to help by ideals, then by what?” He well knew by what; by her spirit, her personality, by his love--but he cried: “What impels me matters not, so long as I serve well and ask no reward!” She considered a space, then said slowly: “No, we have no right to refuse any trustworthy aid. And I know that I can trust you; and that you have courage and readiness of wit. But, you have counted the risk?” “I am ready for the risk!” She was silent a moment. “You know what we are trying to do now. Our present endeavour is but an incident of the great struggle; but the future of the cause, the liberation of the people, depend largely upon saving my brother from death.” “I understand.”