stablished
at the first word of danger to "the daughter of our leader," though he
little knew who the "leader" was, or who was his "daughter"; of how the
brutal marauders tortured her to speed with their daggers; and how her
wounds left blood-marks on the ground as she passed along; then of the
halt in the valley, when the marauders came to know that their road north
was menaced, if not already blocked; of the choosing of the murderers,
and their keeping ward over her whilst their companions went to survey
the situation; and of her gallant rescue by that noble fellow, her
husband--my son I shall call him henceforth, and thank God that I may
have that happiness and that honour!

Then my daughter went on to tell me of the race back to Vissarion, when
Rupert went ahead of all--as a leader should do; of the summoning of the
Archbishop and the National Council; and of their placing the nation's
handjar in Rupert's hand; of the journey to Ilsin, and the flight of my
daughter--and my son--on the aeroplane.

The rest I knew.

As she finished, the sleeping man stirred and woke--broad awake in a
second--sure sign of a man accustomed to campaign and adventure. At a
glance he recalled everything that had been, and sprang to his feet. He
stood respectfully before me for a few seconds before speaking. Then he
said, with an open, engaging smile:

"I see, sir, you know all. Am I forgiven--for Teuta's sake as well as my
own?" By this time I was also on my feet. A man like that walks
straight into my heart. My daughter, too, had risen, and stood by my
side. I put out my hand and grasped his, which seemed to leap to meet
me--as only the hand of a swordsman can do.

"I am glad you are my son!" I said. It was all I could say, and I meant
it and all it implied. We shook hands warmly. Teuta was pleased; she
kissed me, and then stood holding my arm with one hand, whilst she linked
her other hand in the arm of her husband.

He summoned one of the sentries without, and told him to ask Captain
Rooke to come to him. The latter had been ready for a call, and came at
once. When through the open flap of the tent we saw him coming,
Rupert--as I must call him now, because Teuta wishes it; and I like to do
it myself--said:

"I must be off to board the Turkish vessel before it comes inshore.
Good-bye, sir, in case we do not meet again." He said the last few words
in so low a voice that I only could hear them. Then he kissed his wif