Lord Bellingham soon began the systematic effort to induce Archy to give up his country for which he had, in truth, been sent for from France. But everything united to make against his scheme. While the time never had been that Archy would have abandoned his country and her cause, he was still less likely to do so in the hour of her triumph, when the English people had forced the King and his Ministry to abandon a fratricidal war. And the association for many months with two such men as Paul Jones and Dr. Franklin was not calculated to make any young and impressionable mind less American in its belief and sympathies. Nor was the splendid bait offered by Lord Bellingham half as attractive to Archy as it would have been to a young man of less adventurous life and habits. Full of an enthusiastic democracy, he rated the title as nothing at all; and as for the estates, it may be said to the honor of humanity that money has but little weight with a manly and generous nature in the freshness of youth. Archy really would have liked to own Bellingham Castle if he could have transported it to America, but he would cheerfully have given all the mediÆval castles in England for one good ship of the line, and would have thrown in Westminster Abbey as a makeweight. And because little things as well as great things influence people, Lord Bellingham could not have devised a better way to defeat his own object than in bringing Archy in contact with his two cousins, Isabel and Mary. These two high-spirited young ladies were as determinedly English as Archy was aggressively American, and the result was warfare, in which quarter was neither asked nor given. Not one of the three was bad-tempered, so that, in spite of their continual bickerings, there was an odd sort of sympathy among them, the sympathy which comes from a community of tastes and amusements, which made them seek each other's society, apparently for the purpose of expressing their disesteem for each other's opinions—Mary and Isabel on the one side, and Archy on the other; Mrs. Langton vainly striving for peace, Colonel Baskerville an impartial umpire, and Lord Bellingham secretly diverted at the cut-and-come-again style in which his grandchildren disputed. But he grew grave one day when he came upon them engaged in an exciting discussion on the issues of the war in America, which Isabel ended by saying, loftily:

"At all events, we sha'n't be mortified by hearing you express such opinions in public, for you know grandpapa can't take you about the country visiting with him, because a great many people would not recognize you. They call you a rebel."

"Do they?" wrathfully replied Archy. "I'll give them to understand, then, that I'd rather be an American and a rebel—yes, by Jove! a rebel against tyrannical kings—than to be heir to Lord Bellingham's title and estates. And that I will show them, too!"

"I hope you will stick to it," said Isabel, tartly, "for it is a pity to have the estate go out of the family, and Trevor will get it if you don't. Dear Trevor!" Isabel, who was tender-hearted in spite of her high spirit, could not keep the tears out of her eyes at the mention of Trevor's name, and Archy, too, was softened, for he answered:

"Hang it, Isabel, why do you say such maddening things? If you were not Langton's sister and your mother's daughter I would serve you as William the Conqueror did the Princess Matilda—roll you in the mud until you cried peccavi," at which Isabel smiled in a superior manner. She was so tall and strong that William the Conqueror would have had trouble rolling her in the mud.

Lord Bellingham moved away in a thoughtful mood. He began, for the first time, to realize that he might possibly not succeed in buying up his grandson—a reflection which he had hitherto refused, even in his own mind, to consider a possibility.

However, fate was preparing a delicious revenge for Archy upon his two cousins, and it took a form which not only gave him ecstatic pleasure at the time, but sufficed him for chaffing the two girls during the residue of their lives; and this is how it came about.

The spring had passed, the fall of the Ministry had made it certain that the American war was practically over, and the summer came and waned. But it was not like summer weather, and on a certain August night the air was so sharp upon the northern hills and moors that a fire was not unpleasant in the great hall at Bellingham Castle. Lord Bellingham sat before it, with Mary and Isabel taking turns in reading the London newspapers to him. The news they contained of the abandonment of hostilities was not very agreeable to either of the girls, each of whom punctuated her reading with her own opinions, very much after Archy's manner. Lord Bellingham listened, smiling instead of scowling. The society of his daughter and of his grandchildren had certainly changed the old man's temper and manners, if not his disposition. Presently Lord Bellingham asked:

"Where is my grandson?"

"Indeed, I don't know, grandpapa," replied Mary. "He is the most restless creature I ever saw. He cannot sit down and be quiet and placid like an English gentleman; he must always be off on some sort of an expedition."

Lord Bellingham smiled again. He knew that the instant Archy entered the doors the three young people would gravitate together, although to say a civil word one to the other was strictly against their code.

"There he is now," said Isabel, as steps were heard, and the porter came out from his corner to open the doors.

Instead of Archy, though, there entered a slight, well-made man, of about thirty-five, with a plain but striking face, in which glowed a pair of singularly beautiful black eyes. He was dressed in a handsome riding-suit, and had an air and manner of distinction.

"Is Mr. Archibald Baskerville here?" he asked; and then, seeing the old man and the two girls sitting at the other end of the vast hall in the glowing light of the fire, and the waxlights on a reading-stand, he advanced, removing his three-cornered hat and making a profound and graceful bow, first to the two girls and then to their grandfather.

Lord Bellingham, who had seen much of men and things, recognized in an instant that he saw before him a person of distinction, and, rising from his chair with much dignity, he returned the salutation with a courtly inclination.

The stranger then spoke in a softly modulated voice, in which there was occasionally a slight hesitation.

"I believe I am addressing Lord Bellingham, and—" he paused and looked towards the two girls, whose height and beauty made them appear much older than their sixteen and seventeen years.

"My granddaughters," said Lord Bellingham, with a wave of his hand.

The stranger made another bow, so elegant that the two girls summoned all their grace to return it properly, and then, accepting the chair which Lord Bellingham indicated, he continued:

"I venture the liberty of calling to see my young friend, Mr. Baskerville. I trust he is still here."

"Mr. Baskerville is not at present under this roof, but we are expecting him in momentarily," replied Lord Bellingham. "Mr. Baskerville is my grandson, and I beg to introduce myself as Lord Bellingham."

"I wish, my lord," replied the stranger, with dignity, "that I could respond to the courtesy you show me by introducing myself. But the exigencies of the times are such that I am compelled to forego, for political as well as personal reasons, giving my name. Mr. Baskerville, however, will recognize me as an officer and a gentleman."

Now, Lord Bellingham was not addicted to making friends with strangers, but he was so captivated with his unknown visitor's air and manners and speech, and his curiosity was so aroused, that his answer was in a very courteous tone:

"These are, indeed, troublous times, and I am more than willing to take my grandson's friend on trust. I may hazard, however, in spite of your excellent English, that you are a Frenchman, or a Spaniard perhaps, who finds himself in England, and whom prudence requires that he should conceal his name."

"I am neither French nor Spanish," coolly responded the stranger. "I was born in Scotland. But I have lately come from Paris."

"How are affairs there, may I inquire?"

"In a very singular state," replied the stranger. "With an autocratic government, and little sympathy between the court and the people, the court ardently espouses the cause of democracy in the case of the American colonies."

"And the King and Queen will rue it," energetically cried Lord Bellingham, bringing his slender, ivory-headed cane down to emphasize his remarks. "They are teaching their people rebellion against kings, and they may pay the penalty by being driven out of their own bailiwick."

The stranger, as if not caring to pursue the subject further, turned and said, in a manner at once flattering and respectful:

"May I be permitted to observe that these two charming young gentlewomen remind me strongly of her Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette; and in proof of this, allow me to show you this."

He drew from his bosom a very beautiful miniature of the Queen, set in brilliants, with her monogram, and handed it to Isabel. There was, undoubtedly, a likeness between that fair, haughty face and the faces of the two handsome young English girls, with their abundant blond hair, their brilliant blue eyes, and their short upper lips, like the Austrian.

Mary and Isabel smiled delightedly. It was something to be told they looked like the Queen of France, and that by a gentleman who had been honored by the gift of her portrait.

The miniature at once established the stranger in Lord Bellingham's mind as a person of consequence, and he was already deep in the good graces of Isabel and Mary.

His conversation further prepossessed them in his favor. Quiet, modest, and without dragging in the names of the great, it was easy to see that he had moved in the best society of Paris, and by his frank comment upon persons and things he showed he was not in slavish subservience to it. He spoke of the King and Queen with gratitude and affection, but on the subject of the administration of the military and naval affairs of France he showed something approaching bitterness and chagrin.

Lord Bellingham was deeply interested in the conversation of so accomplished a man; but Isabel and Mary, whose lives had been spent in seclusion, were perfectly infatuated with him. They thought him a duke, at least, and even whispered to each other, under cover of their grandfather's sonorous conversation, that the stranger might prove to be the Comte d'Artois, that younger brother of the royal house of France who was celebrated for milking the cow so beautifully at the Little Trianon, and who was the best dancer on the tight-rope in Paris.

Nearly an hour had passed in conversation when, with a bang, the great hall door came open, and Archy and Colonel Baskerville entered, just home from a long ride.

The stranger rose instantly, and, facing the door, held up a hand of warning. As soon as Archy's eyes became accustomed to the glow of the fire and candles, he uttered a cry of joy.

"My—" captain he was about to say, when he caught sight of Paul Jones's uplifted hand, and the word was checked in time. But, rushing forward, the two met and clasped each other rapturously, and in that warm embrace some whispered words were exchanged which caused them both to smile delightedly as they returned to the fire with their arms around each other like two school-boys, instead of being a captain and one of his junior officers.

Lord Bellingham and the two girls were amazed at the warmth of the meeting, and more puzzled than ever to make out the identity of their mysterious visitor. Not so Colonel Baskerville. He surmised in an instant that it was Paul Jones.

"Grandfather," cried Archy, "I cannot tell you the name of this gentleman whom I have the honor to call my friend, but I assure you that Bellingham never sheltered a more honorable and deserving man."

"I believe you," replied Lord Bellingham, with dignity, "and as I have already accepted him upon his own representations, I can do no more on yours. Perhaps your friend will remain the night with us?"

"Unfortunately, no," replied Paul Jones, "with sincere thanks for your lordship's goodness. I have been two weeks in England, and to-morrow morning, early, I must embark. I have ordered post-horses from the village for twelve o'clock to-night, which will get me to the coast before this time to-morrow."

"Uncle," then said Archy, turning to Colonel Baskerville, "will you not, on my assurance, shake hands with my friend?"

"Certainly," responded Colonel Baskerville, offering his hand, and saying, in a low voice, which Lord Bellingham did not catch: "With a surmise which amounts to a certainty as to who he is."

Supper was now ordered in Lord Bellingham's room, and when it was announced, all four of the gentlemen arose. Mrs. Langton had sent a message asking to be excused, so Isabel and Mary were to go to their mother. As they rose, Paul Jones made them another of those captivating bows which had charmed very great ladies, much less two innocent and unsophisticated young girls, and they returned it with curtseys which almost brought them to the ground. And then a strange thing happened. Archy suddenly doubled up with silent laughter. Lord Bellingham had preceded them and was now passing through the library door, so that he could neither see nor hear what was going on behind him. Paul Jones looked surprised until Archy whispered in his ear:

"My cousins profess to detest Americans!"

A smile suddenly illuminated his dark face, while Colonel Baskerville, like Archy, seemed to be excessively amused at the profound curtseys of the two young girls.

"Dear ladies," said Paul Jones, who was famous for making headway with the other sex, "may I not have the honor of kissing your charming hands, as a memory to carry away with me of the two most beautiful maidens I have ever known outside my native country?"

And Isabel and Mary, blushing and smiling and nothing loath, extended their hands, which Paul Jones touched with his lips in the most respectful manner. As they sailed gracefully off, Archy seized Colonel Baskerville, who wore a sympathetic grin, and whispered, convulsively:

"ISABEL AND MARY EXTENDED THEIR HANDS TO PAUL JONES"

"Uncle, this is more than I can stand. I shall certainly explode when I think of Isabel and Mary—and—o-ho!" Archy went off into spasms of laughter, which lasted until he was seated at the table directly under Lord Bellingham's stern eye. And even then, with all his pride and delight in his old commander, Archy was secretly convulsed when he anticipated the revelation of Paul Jones's identity after he was out of the three kingdoms. He felt no fear for his brave commander; he knew that few men united the greatest boldness with the most consummate prudence as Paul Jones did, and was perfectly sure that after having escaped capture in the two weeks the great captain had been in England, he was little likely to be caught between Bellingham and the coast.

Lord Bellingham had promptly surrendered to the charm of Paul Jones's conversation, and listened with profound attention to all he had to say, as did Colonel Baskerville. Paul Jones gave much interesting information about affairs on the Continent, but with so much tact that no one would have suspected the active part he had taken in many of the incidents he related. He sat, the wax light falling upon his clear-cut face and deep and speaking eyes, one knee carelessly thrown over the other, and his brown, sinewy hand involuntarily seeking the hilt of the dress sword that he wore, according to the custom of the time. Lord Bellingham was in his most gracious mood, but the more fascinated he was with the conversation of his new guest, the more profound was his curiosity to find out who the stranger was. The personal history of Paul Jones was little known at that time, and his announcement that he was born in Scotland did not enlighten Lord Bellingham in the least. In vain he framed adroit questions; Paul Jones's answers were more adroit still. Lord Bellingham, with an inscrutable smile upon his handsome old face, listened and watched, and was at last compelled, after four hours of close conversation, to admit to himself that he had utterly failed to penetrate the stranger's disguise.

A few minutes before midnight Paul Jones rose.

"My horses are now due from the village," he said, "and I must leave this hospitable roof. Will not you, Mr. Baskerville, go with me one stage on the road?"

Archy accepted delightedly. The whole party then, Lord Bellingham included, came out in the cold and gloomy hall, where the fire had quite died out, to bid the guest farewell. Colonel Baskerville said good-bye with great courtesy, and added:

"I beg to say that I offer you my hand with full knowledge, I believe, of your name, and character, and rank."

Paul Jones's expressive eyes glowed with pleasure. Many English officers refused to recognize him on account of his having adopted the American cause, although born in one of the British Isles, and the respect of such a man as Colonel Baskerville was peculiarly gratifying.

"I thank you most sincerely for your generous recognition; it is the mark of a just and liberal mind. And to you, sir," said Paul Jones, turning to Lord Bellingham, "I do not know whether you would extend to me the same hospitality you have this night if you knew my name. Every motive of the most ordinary prudence requires me to keep it secret the brief time I am in England. Yet, as a slight testimony to my belief in your generosity, I will say to you that I am Paul Jones, captain in the continental navy."

And the next moment he had passed through the great doors, descended the stone steps, and his post-chaise was rolling rapidly off with himself and Archy inside.