him.

He lay collecting his strength and wits, breathing deeply and taking
nine seconds' rest.

On the word _"nine"_ he sprang to his feet and as Harberth rushed in,
side-stepped, and, as that youth instinctively covered his
much-smitten "mark," Dam drove at his chin and sent him staggering. As
he went after him he saw that Harberth was breathing hard, trembling,
and swaying on his feet. Springing in, he rained short-arm blows until
Harberth fell and then he stepped well back.

Harberth sat shaking his head, looking piteous, and, in the middle of
the time-keeper's counting, he arose remarking, "I've had enough"--and
walked to his chair.

Bully Harberth was beaten--and Dam felt that the Snake was farther
from him than ever it had been since he could remember.

"De Warrenne wins," said Cokeson, and then Flaherty of the Sixth
stepped into the ring and stopped the fight with much show of wrath
and indignation.

Dam was wildly cheered and chaired and thence-forth was as popular and
as admired as he had been shunned and despised.

Nor did he have another Snake seizure by day (though countless
terrible nightmares in what must be called his sleep) till some time
after he had left school.

When he did, it had a most momentous influence upon his career.

She is mine! She is mine!
By her soul divine
By her heart's pure guile
By her lips' sweet smile
She is mine! She is mine.

Encapture? Aye
In dreams as fair
As angel whispers, low and rare,
In thoughts as pure
As childhood's innocent allure
In hopes as bright
In deeds as white
As altar lilies, bathed in light.

She is mine! She is mine!
By seal as true
To spirit view
As holy scripture writ in dew,
By bond as fair
To vision rare
As holy scripture writ in air,
By writ as wise to spirit eyes
As holy scripture in God's skies v
She is mine! She is mine!

Elude me? Nay,
Ere earth reclaimed
In joy unveils a Heaven regained,
Ere sea unbound,
Unfretting, rolls in mist--nor sound,
Ere sun and star repentent crash
In scattered ash, across the bar
She is _mine_ I She is _mine_!

A. L. WREN.

CHAPTER VII.

LOVE--AND THE SNAKE.

Damocles de Warrenne, gentleman-cadet, on the eve of returning from
Monksmead to the Military Academy of Sandhurst, appeared to have
something on his mind as he sat on the broad coping of the terrace
balustrade and idly kicked his heels. Every time he had returned to
Monksmead from Wellingborough and Sandhurst, he had foun