stars, the stars of his destiny, sang together in the ever-deepening glamour of the Vision Splendid.  He was entering into the lists of Camelot to fight for his Princess.  He was the Mysterious Knight, parented in fairy-far Avilion, the Fortunate Youth, the Awakener of England.  Now he was but a base-born young man who had attained a high position by false pretences; an ordinary adventurer with a glib tongue; a self-educated, self-seeking, commonplace fellow.  At least, so he saw himself in his Princess’s eyes.  And he had meant that she should thus behold him.  No longer was he entering lists to fight for her.  For what hopeless purpose was he entering them?  To awaken England?  The awakener must have his heart full of dreams and visions and glamour and joy and throbbing life; and in his heart there was death.

He drew out the little cornelian talisman at the end of his watch-chain and looked at it bitterly.  It was but a mocking symbol of illusion.  He unhooked it and laid it on the table.  He would carry it about with him no longer.  He would throw it away.

Ursula Winwood quietly entered the room.

“You must come down and have something to cat before the meeting.”

Paul rose.  “I don’t want anything, thank you, Miss Winwood.”

“But James and I do.  So come and join us.”

“Are you coming to the meeting?” he asked in surprise.

“Of course.”  She lifted her eyebrows.  “Why not?”

“After what you have heard?”

“All the more reason for us to go.”  She smiled as she had smiled on that memorable evening six years ago when she had stood with the horrible pawn-ticket in her hand.  “James has to support the Party.  I have to support you.  James will do the same as I in a day or two.  Just give him time.  His mind doesn’t work very quickly, not as quickly as a woman’s.  Come,” she said.  “When we have a breathing space you can tell me all about it.  But in the meantime I’m pretty sure I understand.”

“How can you?” he asked wearily.  “You have other traditions.”

“I don’t know about traditions; but I don’t give my love and take it away again.  I set rather too much value on it.  I understand because I love you.”

“Others with the same traditions can’t understand.”

“I’m not proposing to marry you,” she said bluntly.  “That makes a difference.”

“It does,” said he, meeting her eyes unflinchingly.

“If you weren’t a brave man, I shouldn’t say such a thing to you.  Anyhow I understand you’re the last man in the world who should take me for a fool.”

“My God!” said Paul in a choky voice.  “What can I do to thank you?”

“Win the election.”

“You are still my dearest lady—­my very very dearest lady,” said he.

Her shrewd eyes fell upon the cornelian heart.  She picked it tip and held it out to him on her plump palm.

“Why have you taken this off your watch-chain?”