One of those trivial occurrences, that come so close to becoming an accident, chanced, as the passengers were being transferred from the steamer to the "tug."

The aristocratic ex-governor, shy of being hustled by a crowd, had waited to the last, his luggage having been passed before him. Only Maynard, Roseveldt, and a few others still stood upon the gangway, politely giving him place.

Sir George had stepped out upon the staging, his daughter close following; the mulatto, bag in hand, with some space intervening, behind.

A rough breeze was on the Mersey, with a strong quick current; and by some mischance the hawser, holding the two boats together, suddenly gave way. The anchored ship held her ground, while the tug drifted rapidly sternward. The stage-plank became slewed, its outer end slipping from the paddle-box just as Sir George set foot upon the tender. With a crash it went down upon the deck below.

The servant, close parting from the bulwarks, was easily dragged back again; but the child, halfway along the staging, was in imminent danger of being projected into the water. The spectators saw it simultaneously, and a cry from both ships proclaimed the peril. She had caught the hand-rope, and was hanging on, the slanted plank affording her but slight support.

And in another instant it would part from the tender, still driving rapidly astern. It _did_ part, dropping with a plash upon the seething waves below; but not before a man, gliding down the slope, had thrown his arm around the imperilled girl, and carried her safely back over the bulwarks of the steamer!

There was no longer a coldness between Sir George Vernon and Captain Maynard; for it was the latter who had rescued the child.

As they parted on the Liverpool landing, hands were shaken, and cards exchanged--that of the English baronet accompanied with an invitation for the revolutionary leader to visit him at his country-seat; the address given upon the card, "Vernon Park, Sevenoaks, Kent."

It is scarce necessary to say that Maynard promised to honour the invitation, and made careful registry of the address.

And now, more than ever, did he feel that strange forecast, as he saw the girlish face, with its deep blue eyes, looking gratefully from the carriage-window, in which Sir George, with his belongings, was whirled away from the wharf.

His gaze followed that thing of roseate hue; and long after it was out of sight he stood thinking of it.

It was far from agreeable to be aroused from his dreamy reverie--even by a voice friendly as that of Roseveldt!

The Count was by his side; holding in his hand a newspaper.

It was the _Times_ of London, containing news to them of painful import.

It did not come as a shock. The journals brought aboard by the pilot-- as usual, three days old--had prepared them for a tale of disaster.

What they now read was only its confirmation.

"It's true!" said Roseveldt, pointing to the conspicuous capitals:

THE PRUSSIAN TROOPS HAVE TAKEN RASTADT!

THE BAVARIAN REVOLUTION AT AN END!

As he pointed to this significant heading, a wild oath, worthy of one of Schiller's student robbers, burst from his lips, while he struck his heel down upon the floating wharf as though he would have crushed the plank beneath him.

"A curse!" he cried, "an eternal curse upon the perjured King of Prussia! And those stupid North Germans! I knew he would never keep his oath to them?"

Maynard, though sad, was less excited. It is possible that he bore the disappointment better by thinking of that golden-haired girl. She would still be in England; where he must needs now stay.

This was his first reflection. It was not a resolve; only a transient thought.

It passed almost on the instant, at an exclamation from Roseveldt once more reading from the paper:

"_Kossuth still holds out in Hungary; though the Russian army is reported as closing around Arad_!"

"Thank God?" cried Roseveldt; "we may yet be in time for that!"

"Should we not wait for our men? I fear we two could be of slight service without them."

The remembrance of that angelic child was making an angel of Maynard!

"Slight service! A sword like yours, and _mine_! _Pardonnes moi_! Who knows, _cher capitaine_, that I may not yet sheathe it in the black heart of a Hapsburg? Let us on to Hungary! It is the same cause as ours."

"I agree, Roseveldt. I only hesitated, thinking of your danger if taken upon Austrian soil."

"Let them hang me if they will. But they won't, if we can only reach Kossuth and his brave companions, Aulich, Perezel, Dembinsky, Nagy, Sandor, and Damjanich. Maynard, I know them all. Once among these, there is no danger of the rope. If we die, it will be sword in hand, and among heroes. Let us on, then, to Kossuth!"

"To Kossuth!" echoed Maynard, and the golden-haired girl was forgotten!

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE FIFTH AVENUE HOUSE.

The Newport season was over. Mrs Girdwood had returned to her splendid mansion in the Fifth Avenue, soon to receive a visitor, such as even Fifth Avenue houses do not often entertain--an English lord--Mr Swinton, the nobleman _incog._, had accepted her invitation to dinner.

It was to be a quiet family affair. Mrs Girdwood could not well have it otherwise, as the circle of her acquaintance fit to meet such a distinguished guest was limited. She had not been long in the Fifth Avenue house--only since a little before the death of her late husband, the deceased storekeeper, who had taken the place at her earnest solicitations.

In fact it was whispered that the grand mansion had caused his death.

It was too splendid for comfort--it required a complete change in his habits; and perhaps he was troubled about the expense, which was wholesale, while he had been all his life accustomed to the retail.

From whatever cause, his spirits sank under its lofty ceilings, and after wandering for three months through the spacious apartments, listening to his own lonely tread, he lay down upon one of its luxurious couches and died!

It was more cheerful after his demise; but as yet unvisited by the _elite_. Mr Swinton was the first of this class who was to stretch his limbs under the Girdwood mahogany; but then he was at the head of it. A good beginning, reflected widow Girdwood.

"We shall have no one to meet you, my lord. We are too busy in preparing for our voyage to Europe. Only the girls and myself. I hope you won't mind that."

"Pway madam, don't mention it. Yaw own intewesting family; just the sort of thing I take pleasyaw in. Nothing baws me more than one of those gweat pawties--gwand kwushes, as we call them in England."

"I'm glad of it, my lord. We shall expect you then on next Tuesday.

Remember, we dine at seven."

This brief dialogue occurred in the Ocean House at Newport, just as Mrs Girdwood was getting into the hack to be taken to the New York boat.

Tuesday came, and along with it Mr Swinton, entering the Fifth Avenue mansion at 7 p.m., punctual to his appointment. The house was lit up brilliantly, and in the same style was the guest got up, having dressed himself with the greatest care. So, too, the hostess, her daughter, and niece.

But the dining party was not yet complete; two others were expected, who soon came in.

They were Mr Lucas and his acolyte, also returned to New York, and who, having made Mrs Girdwood's acquaintance at Newport, through the medium of Mr Swinton, were also included in the invitation.

It made the party compact and in proportion; three ladies, with the same number of gentlemen--the set of six--though perhaps in the eyes of the latter their hostess was _de trop_. Lucas had conceived thoughts about Julia, while his friend saw stars in the blue eyes of Cornelia. All sorted together well enough; Mr Swinton being of course the lion of the evening. This from his being a stranger--an accomplished Englishman.

It was but natural courtesy. Again, Mrs Girdwood longed to make known how great a lion he was. But Mr Swinton had sworn her to secrecy.

Over the dinner-table the conversation was carried on without restraint.

People of different nations, who speak the same language, have no difficulty in finding a topic. Their respective countries supply them with this. America was talked of; but more England. Mrs Girdwood was going there by the next steamer--state-rooms already engaged. It was but natural she should make inquiries.