lay in his hammock, subjected to
storms of the bosom with occasional calms between. He was enjoying one
of the calms when Armstrong passed his hammock and asked how he was
getting on.

"Very well, Willie. Soon be all right, I think," he replied, with a
contented smile.

For at that moment he had been dwelling on the agreeable fact that he
had really rescued Marion Drew from probable death, and that her parents
gratefully recognised the service--as he learned from the clergyman
himself, who expressed his gratitude in the form of frequent visits to
and pleasant chats with the invalid.

The interest and sympathy which Miles had felt on first seeing this man
naturally increased, and at last he ventured to confide to him the story
of his departure from home, but said nothing about the changed name. It
is needless to relate all that was said on the occasion. One can easily
imagine the bearing of a good deal of it. The result on Miles was not
very obvious at the time, but it bore fruit after many days.

The calm in our hero's breast was not, however, of long duration. The
thought that, as a private in a marching regiment, he had not the means
to maintain Marion, in the social position to which she had been
accustomed, was a very bitter thought, and ruffled the sea of his
feelings with a stiff breeze. This freshened to something like a gale
of rebellion when he reflected that his case was all but hopeless; for,
whatever might have been the truth of the statement regarding the French
army under Napoleon, that "every soldier carried a marshal's baton in
his knapsack," it did not follow that soldiers in the British army of
the present day carried commissions in _their_ knapsacks. Indeed, he
knew it was by no means a common thing for men to rise from the ranks,
and he was well aware that those who did so were elevated in virtue of
qualities which he did not possess.

He was in the midst of one of his bosom storms when Sergeant Hardy came
to inquire how he did.

Somehow the quiet, grave, manly nature of that sergeant had a powerful
effect, not only on Miles but on every one with whom he came in contact.
It was not so much his words as his manner that commended him. He was
curiously contradictory, so to speak, in character and appearance. The
stern gravity of his countenance suggested a hard nature, but lines of
good-humour lurking about the eyes and mouth put to flight the
suggestion, and acts of womanly tenderness