mighty from their seats and exalteth the humble."

"Well, well, if I have not touched your heart," he answered gallantly,
"I at least have touched your wit and intellect. Once more I offer you
alliance. Think well before you decline."

He had no thought that he would succeed, but it was ever his way to
return to the charge. It had been the secret of his life's success so
far. He had never taken a refusal. He had never believed that when man
or woman said no that no was meant; and, if it were meant, he still
believed that constant dropping would wear away the stone. He still held
that persistence was the greatest lever in the world, that unswerving
persistence was the master of opportunity.

They had now come to two paths in the park leading different ways.

"This road leads to Kenilworth, this to your prison," he said with a slow
gesture, his eyes fixed upon hers. "I will go to my prison, then," she
said, stepping forward, "and alone, by your leave."

Leicester was a good sportsman. Though he had been beaten all along the
line, he hid his deep chagrin, choked down the rage that was in him.
Smiling, he bowed low.

"I will do myself the honour to visit your prison to-morrow," he said.

"My father will welcome you, my lord," she answered, and, gathering up
her skirt, ran down the pathway.

He stood unmoving, and watched her disappear. "But I shall have my way