Cracis was deep in his
studies and heard him not, so, bubbling over with impatience, the boy
advanced and laid his hand upon the student's arm.

Cracis looked up, wonderingly, and seemed to be obliged to drag his
attention from the book, smiling pleasantly in the flushed face of his
son, and with every trace of anger missing from his own.

"Well, boy," he said, gently, "what is it? Something you can't make
out?"

"Yes, father--old Serge."

"Ah, Serge!" said Cracis, with his brow clouding over. "I am sorry all
that happened, but it was your fault, my boy. You regularly led the
brave, old, honest fellow astray."

"Yes, father, I did," cried Marcus, eagerly, "and now he has taken all
your angry words to heart."

"Oh, tut, tut, tut! Nonsense! I have forgiven it all, my boy; but he
has not yet brought in the chest."

"No, father, I have left him packing it all now, and I have told him
that all that is over, and that when we have time we must amuse
ourselves in some other way than playing at soldiers and talking of
war."

Cracis laid his hand upon his son's shoulder and, with his face growing
sterner, looked proudly in the young, frank face.

"Thank you, my boy," he said. "That is very brave and right of you. It
shows great respect for me. Well, there! The past is all forgiven and
forgotten--nay, I will not say forgotten; that can never be. Let it
always stand in your memory as a stone of warning. Well, that is all
over now."

"But it isn't all over, father," cried the boy. "Old Serge says what
you said has cut him to the heart, and that you didn't forgive him
properly, and that he is dishonoured and disgraced as a soldier."

"Poor brave old Serge!" said Cracis, warmly.

"Hah!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "I wish he were here to hear you speak
like that."

"Oh, nonsense, boy. Time is too valuable to waste by thinking over such
troubles as that. He must understand that I have reproved him for a
fault and forgiven him."

"But he won't understand, father. He's as obstinate as a bull."

"He is, and always was, Marcus," said Cracis, smiling; "but no man is
perfect, and Serge's good qualities more than balance all his bad. But
there, boy, what does he want me to do?"

"I don't know, father. He thinks what you have said can never be
undone, that he can never be the same here again as he was, that he has
lost your confidence and you won't trust him again, and--"

"Well, and what?" said Cracis, sm