to gaze sadly at one another as the slow steps of the father
and master died away.

"He'll never forgive us, Marcus, my lad."

"He will forgive us both, Serge," said Marcus quickly; "but what would I
not give if it had never been done!"

"No," said Serge, grimly, "he'll never forgive us."

"Nonsense!" cried Marcus. "You don't know my father as I do."

"Better, a lot, boy. I've fought with him, starved with him, saved his
life; and I'll be fair--he's saved mine more than once. But he's hard
as bronze, boy, and when he says a thing he'll never go back."

"And I say he's as good and forgiving as can be, and when all the armour
has been put away as he told you, he'll forget all this trouble, and we
shall be as happy again as ever."

"You say that, boy, because you don't know him. I do, and there's
nothing left for it but for me to make up my bundle and go off."

"What!" cried Marcus, laughing. "You pack up your bundle and go?"

"Yes, my lad; I can never get over this again. I have been a servant
and herdsman here all these years because I felt your father respected
me, but now he don't I feel as if I could never do another stroke of
work, and I shall go."

"No, you won't, Serge; you are only saying that because you are cross."

"Oh no," said the man, shaking his head, "not cross, boy--wounded. Cut
to the heart. I'm only a poor sort of labouring man here and servant,
but I have been a soldier, and once a soldier always a soldier at heart,
a man who thinks about his honour. Ah, you smile; and it does sound
queer for a man dressed like this and handling a herdsman's crook to
talk about his honour; but inside he's just the same man as wore the
soldier's armour and plumed helmet and marched in the ranks, erect and
proud, ready to follow his general wherever he led. You wouldn't think
it strange for a proud-looking man like that to say his honour was
touched."

"No," said Marcus, thoughtfully.

"Well, boy, I'm the same man still. I have lost your father's
confidence, and as soon as I have done putting away of our armour and
weapons, as he told me, in the big old chest, I shall pack up and go."

"Shall you take your sword and helmet with you, Serge?" asked the boy.

The man stared, and looked at him sharply, before remaining silent for
quite a minute.

"No," he cried, angrily; "I shall take nothing that will bring up the
past. I want to forget it all."

"But what do you mean to do?" said Marcus.