r, Blake looked about while he braced himself for the
ordeal that must be faced.

He knew the big room well, but its air of solemnity, with which the
heavy Georgian furniture was in keeping, impressed him. The ceiling
had been decorated by a French artist of the eighteenth century, and
the faded delicacy of the design, bearing as it did the stamp of its
period, helped to give the place a look of age. Challoner could trace
his descent much farther than his house and furniture suggested, but
the family had first come to the front in the East India Company's
wars, and while maintaining its position afterward had escaped the
modernizing influence of the country's awakening in the early Victorian
days.

It seemed to Blake, fresh from the new and democratic West, that his
uncle, shrewd and well-informed man as he was, was very much of the
type of Wellington's officers. For all that he pitied him. Challoner
looked old and worn, and round his eyes there were wrinkles that hinted
at anxious thought. His life was lonely; his unmarried sister, who
spent much of her time in visits, was the only relative who shared his
home. Now that age was limiting his activities and interests, he had
one great source of gratification: the career of the soldier son who
was worthily following in his steps. His nephew determined that this
should be saved for him, as he remembered the benefits he had received
at the Colonel's hands.

"Dick," Challoner said earnestly, "I'm very glad to see you home. I
should like to think you have come to stay."

"Thank you, sir. I'll stay as long as you need me.

"I feel that I need you altogether. It's now doubtful whether Bertram
will leave India, after all. His regiment has been ordered into the
hills, where there's serious trouble brewing, and he has asked
permission to remain. Even if he comes home, he will have many duties,
and I have nobody left."

Blake did not answer immediately, and his uncle studied him. Dick had
grown thin, but he looked very strong, and the evening dress set off
his fine, muscular figure. His face was still somewhat pinched, but
its deep bronze and the steadiness of his eyes and the firmness of his
lips gave him a very soldierly look and a certain air of distinction.
There was no doubt that he was true to the Challoner type.

"I must go back sooner or later," Blake said slowly; "there is an
engagement I am bound to keep. Besides, your pressing me to stay
raises a