ully at the
speaker, then at the bright soldierly accoutrements, back at the old
man, and lastly, as if the bright weapons and armour fascinated him, he
stood frowning fixedly down at everything that was spread out upon the
rough table.

The boy's looks and actions affected the old man, who said sadly:

"It do seem hard, lad, eh?"

"Yes, very, very hard, Serge," replied Marcus.

"But it's duty, boy, eh! What we ought to do?"

"Yes, Serge, and it must be done; but I wish we had never begun it all."

"Ay, lad, so do I; but it's of no use to wish. There, have one good
look at it, and then I'll put it all away in the big chestnut box."

"But I shall want to look at it all sometimes, Serge."

"Well, I don't see no harm in that, my boy. Only no more fighting
lessons."

"No," sighed Marcus; "no more fighting lessons. You are right, Serge,
and I'm going to forget all about it if I can; but I shall always feel
that I should have liked to be a Roman soldier."

"Ah, you can't help that, boy, of course."

"No, I can't help that," sighed Marcus, and, stretching out his hands,
he picked up the heavy brazen helmet, looked at it round and round
before turning it with the back towards him, and then, slowly raising
it, he balanced the heavy head-piece on high for a few moments before
slowly lowering it down upon his head; the scaled cheek-straps fell into
their places, and he drew himself up erect with his eyes flashing and
face lighting up, as he gazed half defiantly at the old soldier.

"Hah!" cried the latter. "It do fit you well, boy, and you look nearly
a man in it."

"Do I, Serge?" cried the boy, flushing, as he put off the helmet with a
sigh, and set it aside; then, catching up the sword and belt, he went
out on to the _Piazza_ to buckle them on, his fingers trembling with
excitement the while.

"Do you, boy? Yes, and a regular soldier too," said Serge, following.

Marcus threw his hand across and grasped the scabbard of the short sword
blade with his left, the hilt with his right, and, the next moment, the
keen, two-edged weapon flashed in the sunlight.

"Good! Brave boy!" cried the old soldier excitedly, and, forgetting all
the words that had passed, he fetched the oblong, round-faced shield
from the table and held it ready for Marcus to thrust his left arm
through the loop and then grasp the hand-hold firmly, and draw the piece
of defensive armour before his breast. "Well done! Now think that I'm
go