I have made you a
fighting man, and here's been the proof of it this morning. There's
only one thing wanted to make all this complete. Boy! Tchah! I can't
call you a boy: you are a young Roman warrior."

"Oh, nonsense, Serge!" cried the boy, flushing.

"Nonsense, eh? Look at you and the way you handled that spear. Why,
you are better with your sword, if you have to draw it, as I well know.
Do you remember how you nearly did for me?"

"Oh yes, I remember," replied Marcus.

"Yes, I had to jump that time; and lucky I did, or I shouldn't have been
here for you to fight like this. But, as I was saying, it only wanted
one thing, and that was for your father, who has come to his senses at
last, to have been here to see, and--"

The old soldier stopped short, his big, massive jaw dropped, and he
stood staring as he took off his heavy helmet and wiped his brow with
the back of his hand.

"But I say," he cried, at last, staring at the boy with the puzzled
expression upon his features growing more and more intense, "what are
you doing here?"

Marcus' sun-browned face turned scarlet, and he stood silent, staring in
reply, beginning almost to cower--he, the brave, young, growing
warrior--before the old servant's stern eyes, and ready to shiver at the
pricking of the conscience that was now hard at work.

"Look here," cried Serge, extending his shield and raising his short
broadsword to punctuate his words with the taps he gave upon this armour
of defence, "your father said that you were not to use that armour any
more, and I left it, being busy getting his for him to go off to the
war, lying upon his bed. It wasn't yours any longer. It was his'n.
You have been in and stole it; that's what you have done. Do you hear
me?" continued the old soldier, fiercely. "You've been and stole it and
put it on, when he said you warn't to. That's what you've done."

"Yes, Serge," said the boy, meekly.

"Hah!" cried the old soldier, gathering strength.

"And your father said you were to stop at home and take care of his
house and servants, and the swine and cattle, and his lands, and, as
soon as he's gone, you begin kicking up your heels and playing your
wicked young pranks. That's what you've done, and been pretty quick
about it too. Now then, out with it. Let's have the truth--the truth,
and no excuses. Let's have the truth."

It was no longer punctuation, but a series of heavy musical bangs upon
the shield, and onc