s poor men pass their days in----'

'Who can dare to say that of me?' cried Charles Edward passionately.
'There's not a toil I have not tasted, there's not a peril I have not
braved, there's not a sorrow nor a suffering that have not been my
portion; ay, and, God wot, with heavier stake upon the board than ever
man played for!'

'Forgive me, Signor Conte,' stammered out the boy, as his eyes filled
up at the sight of the emotion he had caused, 'I knew not what I was
saying.'

The Prince took little heed of the words, for his aroused thoughts bore
him sadly to the mist-clad mountain and the heathery gorges far away;
and he strode the room in deep emotion. At last his glance fell upon
the youth as, pale and terror-stricken, he stood watching him, and he
quickly said: 'I'm not angry with you, Gerald; do not grieve, my poor
boy. You will learn, one of these days, that sorrow has its place at
fine tables, just as at humbler boards. It helps the rich man to don his
robe of purple, just as it aids the beggar to put on his rags. It's a
stern conscription that calls on all to serve. But to yourself: you will
not be a priest, you say? What, then, would you like--what say you to
the life of a soldier?'

'But in what service, Signor Conte?'

'That of your own country, I suppose.'

'They tell me that the king is a usurper, who has no right to be king;
and shall I swear faith and loyalty to him?'

'Others have done so, and are doing it every day, boy. It was but
yesterday, Lord Blantyre made what they call his submission; and he was
the bosom friend of--the Pretender'; and the last words were uttered in
a half-scornful laugh.

'I will not hear him called by that name, Signor Conte. So long as I
remember anything, I was taught not to endure it.'

'Was that your mother's teaching, Gerald?' said the Prince tenderly.

'It was, sir. I was a very little child; but I can never forget the last
prayer I made each night before bed: it was for God's protection to the
true Prince; and when I arose I was to say, "Confusion to all who call
him the Pretender!"'

'He is not even _that_ now,' muttered Charles Edward, as he leaned his
head on the mantelpiece.

'I hope, Signor Conte,' said the boy timidly, 'that you never were for
the Elector.'

'I have done little for the cause of the Stuarts,' said Charles, with a
deep sigh.

'I wish I may live to serve them,' cried the youth, with energy.

The Prince looked long and steadfastly at