“The war is over,” Sherman said, not unkindly. “Our troops won the day. There were deaths on both sides, but there is peace now. If your politicians agree, there will be a lasting peace in the years to come. If we can leave your country with that peace guaranteed — we will do just that. That is our desire, just as it must be yours.”

Sherman heard the door open behind him, turned, and entered the saloon.

“You have reached a decision,” he said. It was not a question.

“We have,” General Armstrong said, bitterness in his voice. “The Indian troops will return to India. You can guarantee them a safe passage?”

“I can. What of the British troops? Will they surrender?”

“Terms must be discussed first.”

“Of course. And your navy ships?”

“That you must discuss with the admiral commanding. I cannot speak for him.”

“Naturally. I feel that you are making a wise decision.”

“Not wise, but the only possible one,” Somerville said, resignedly. General Sherman could only nod in agreement.

At last the long war that had begun when the Confederate representatives had been taken from a British ship, which had spread from America to Mexico and Ireland, which had ended here in England, was over.

“There is a gentleman at the door to see you, Father,” Helen said. “He sent in his card.”

John Stuart Mill took the card, held it to the light. “Ah, Mr. William Gladstone. He has had my letter, then, and responded accordingly. Please show him in.”

They shook hands warmly when Helen ushered Gladstone in, for this was a meeting that both men greatly desired.

“I came as soon as I had your communication. Unhappily I was out of the country for the last parliamentary session and I do regret missing it. I have had mixed reports from my colleagues — but all of them tell me that, if you would excuse the expression, the fur did fly.”

Mill laughed aloud. “It surely did.” He warmed to the politician and was pleased. This was a most important encounter.

“Mr. Gladstone,” Helen said. “Would you take tea with us?”

“I would be delighted.”

“Please be seated,” Mill said. “This is a meeting I have long desired. I have read your political writings with great interest, great interest.”

“You are kind to say that.”

“It is but the truth. You were responsible for the Railway Bill of 1844 that opened up third-class travel for all in Britain. It was only due to your insistence that trains now stop at every station in the country. I admire your interest in the ordinary folk of this land.”

“Indeed they do interest me — for they are citizens just as you and I are.”

“They are, without a doubt, but that is not a popular point of view. I also note that although you have always rejected the idea of parliamentary reform, you spoke up in favor of it when Edward Baines introduced his reform bill. You argued that it was manifestly unfair that only one-fiftieth of the working classes had the vote.”

“That is indeed true — and it is perhaps the main reason that my views on reform changed.”

Mill leaned forward, his voice tense with the grave import of his question. “Then I take it that you are in favor of universal suffrage?”

“I am indeed. I believe that every man in this land should have a vote.”

Helen had opened the door and carried in the tea tray; she could not help but overhear these last words. “But, Mr. Gladstone, to be truly universal, should not suffrage include women as well as men?”

Gladstone was on his feet as he spoke, bowed graciously, and smiled. “My dear Miss Mill, your father has written of the aid you have given him in his writings. Now, having met you, I can surely believe that. Yes, I do agree that someday the vote must be extended to women. But the longest journey begins with but a single step. This is a conservative country and we will be hard-pressed to obtain universal male suffrage. But I promise that when the time is right, the vote will be extended to be truly universal.”

Helen smiled, and responded to his bow with a gracious curtsy. “I shall hold you to your word, sir. Now — let me pour your tea and then leave you gentlemen to your discussions.”

Gladstone sipped his tea and nodded toward the closed door. “Your daughter is a jewel, Mr. Mill. I hope that you will not be offended when I say that she has a mind like a man’s.”

“I understand your meaning, sir, though Helen might take some offense.”

“None intended! I meant simply that I can see why you value her contributions to your labors.”

“I do, greatly. She is the one who convinced me that a universal ballot must also be a secret ballot for general elections. This will prevent working-class people being influenced in their vote by watching employers and landlords.”

“That is indeed a cogent observation. I had not considered that aspect of the vote, but now that I have thought it out, I can see that it will be of utmost importance.”

“But you do realize that a secret ballot with all men eligible to vote — might be the very force that changes this country forever?”

“In what way?”

“Now, as you well know, sovereignty in Britain does not rest with the people, but with the Crown-in-Parliament. This parliamentary sovereignty is the British concentration of power. This means that Parliament is supreme and nothing can stand before it. Not the will of the people — not even the law. If a statute blocks the will of the government, why, ministers can simply change it. Even if that obstacle is common law evolved over the centuries.”

“Unhappily, that is indeed true.”

“But if power flows upward from the people, this would not be possible. The people must elect their representatives to work the common will. If they do not — why, they will be ejected from power. That, and the checks and balances of the judiciary and a supreme court, will be the force to ensure that the will of the people will be sovereign. Not hereditary lords or a hereditary monarch. Not even God can alter that.”

“You believe then that disestablishmentarianism is to be intended?”

“I do. There shall be no ordained church ruled by the monarch. As in the American constitution, there should be no established church at all. In fact, there must be a strict separation between church and state.”

Gladstone put his teacup down, nodded, and sighed.

“This may prove a bitter pill to feed to the people of this island.”

“Strong medicine is sometimes needed. But with your good grace, Mr. Gladstone, and the others in our constitutional congress, the will of the people could become the law of the country.”

“A noble ambition — and hopefully a possible one. I am your man, Mr. Mill, behind you every step of the way.”

The crew on duty aboard the newly launched USS Stalwart, named for the dauntless warship sunk during the battle for Ireland, looked on with interest as the magnificent steam yacht came up the Solent and slowly passed them by. Their work was to guard the city of Portsmouth, and the great naval station there. But they could see no threat in this well-turned-out little ship that was flying the royal ensign of Belgium. They would have found no menace there — even if they had not received strict orders to let the vessel pass undisturbed. In the last of the evening sun, the yacht passed through Southampton Water and into Cowes Roads. After rounding the Isle of Wight, it drifted gently up to the fenders on the dockside in Cowes. Its arrival must have been expected, because a carriage was there, waiting.

Others besides the carriage driver had been expecting the trim vessel’s arrival. There was another yacht tied up farther down the docks. A yacht as well turned out and gleaming as the royal Belgian one.

On the bridge of the Aurora two men stood, watching the other vessel’s arrival. They were both dressed in well-cut broadcloth suits, but each had the bearing of a military man.