ave you thought what it means?"

"You have taken me so by surprise," I replied.

"Oh yes; but can you not see that I make you at once a great man? one
whom I trust in everything, and who will be next in my country to
myself? Come, speak. You will accept?"

His eyes were fixed upon me searchingly, and I felt that I must speak
now, though I trembled for the effect my words would have upon such a
determined, relentless man, accustomed to have his will in all things.

"There are plenty of men more suited to the task than I am," I said with
a last attempt to put off the final words.

"Where?" he said, coldly. "Bring me a thousand older and more
experienced than you, and I should refuse them all."

"Why?"

"Because I like and trust you, and know that you would be faithful."

"Then," I cried, snatching at the chance of escape, "if you knew I
should be faithful, why did you propose such a thing?"

"I do not understand you," he said coldly.

"I am one of the Company's officers, sworn to be true to my duties. How
can I break my oath? I should be a traitor, and worthy of death."

"You have been faithful," he said quietly. "I knew you would say that.
But the tie is broken now."

"No; not while I am in their service."

"You are no longer in their service," he said, watching me intently the
while. "The great Company is dead; its troops are defeated, scattered,
and in a short time there will hardly be a white man left in the land
over which they have tyrannised so long."

I sank back staring at him wildly, for his words carried conviction, and
setting aside the horrors that such a state of affairs suggested, and
the terrible degradation for England, I began thinking of myself cut off
from all I knew, separated from my people, perhaps for ever, asked to
identify myself with the enemies of my country--become, in short, a
renegade.

"It sounds terrible to you," he said gravely; "but you must accept it,
and be content. It is your fate."

"No," I cried passionately, "it is impossible. I cannot."

"Why?" he said coldly. "Have I not promised you enough?"

"Yes, more than enough," I cried; and nerved myself with recollections
of all my old teachings, and my duty as an officer and a gentleman. "It
is not a question of rewards, but of honour. You ask me to train your
men, who have risen up against their rulers, to fight against my
people."

"No," he said; "your people are conquered. It is more to strengthen m