“They almost terrify me.  What have I done!”

“There is no need of apprehension on your part.  Let us assure you of that at once.  We are glad that you, whom we recognize as the moving spirit in this deportation enterprise, have not sanctioned certain of the acts of your agents.  There was one—­a former army officer—­with whom there labored a revolutionist, a German, recently from Europe.  Is it not so?”

“It is true,” she assented.  “They were my chief agents.  But as for that officer, this country has none more eager to offer his sword to the flag when the time shall come.  I am sure it is but his zeal which has caused offense.  I would plead for his reinstatement.  He may have been indiscreet.”

“We shall listen to what you say.  But in addition to these, there was a former slave girl, who has been somewhat prominent in meetings which these two have carried on in different parts of the country.  In the words of the southern press, this girl has been used as a decoy.”

“Lily!” exclaimed Josephine.  “It must have been she!  Yes, I had such a person in my employ—­in very humble capacity.  But, Sir, I assure you I have not seen her for more than two months.  I had supposed her busy with these others on the lecture platform.”

“She is not now so engaged,” interrupted a voice from the shadows on the other side of the table.

“Then she has been arrested?” demanded Josephine.

“That is not the term; yet it is true that she sailed on one of your own colonization ships last week.  Her fortune will lie elsewhere hereafter.  It was her own wish.”

A sudden sense of helplessness smote upon Josephine St. Auban.  Here, even in this republic, were great and silent powers with which the individual needed to contend.  Absorbed for the time in that which was nearest her heart, she had forgotten her own fortunes.  Now she suddenly half rose for the first time.

“But, gentlemen,” said she, as she held out in her hand some papers which crackled in her trembling grasp,—­“after all, we are at cross purposes.  This is not necessary.  My own work is at an end, already!  This very morning it came to an end, and for ever.  Will you not look at these?”

[Illustration:  “My own work is at an end.”]

“How do you mean, Madam?” The tall grave man near by turned upon her his beetling brows, his piercing dark eyes.  “Your work was worthy of approval in many ways.  What has happened that it should cease?”

“This!” she said, handing to him the papers which she held.  “I have a report to-day from my agents in Europe.  Gentlemen, since I must mention these things,—­I have been possessor of a fortune in my own name which might have been called considerable.  I had estates in France and in Austria.  This advises me that my estates have been confiscated by the governments in both countries—­they got word there, in some way—­”