iling tolerantly.

"Oh, it's too stupid to tell you, father."

"One has to hear stupid things in life, my boy, as well as wise, so tell
me all the same. You see, poor Serge, with all his noble qualities, has
never been a man to read and learn wisdom from the works of the great.
Simple, matter-of-fact and straightforward, he is not one who reflects
and balances his acts before he makes them live. I don't think Serge
ever said to himself: `shall I? Shall I not?' before he did a thing,
and I suppose he has not been reflecting now. I am sorry I hurt his
feelings, but I am the master. He is my servant, just as in old days I
was his officer, he my legionary. It was his duty to obey. Now then,
what is he doing?"

"Putting the armour together to go in the chest."

"Well, quite right."

"But it's what he's going to do next, father."

"And what is he going to do next?"

"Pack up his bundle, and then tramp up into the mountains to lie down
and die, for the wolves to pick his bones."

It is impossible to put in words the young speaker's tones, mingled, as
they were, of sadness, ridicule and mirth, while Cracis drew a deep,
long breath and said, softly:

"Brave as a lion, strong beyond the limits of ordinary men; and yet,
poor faithful Serge, what a child he is at heart! Don't tell him what I
said, boy. That is a piece of confidence between ourselves."

"But it's all so real, father. If you are angry with me you scold me,
and it's soon all over. I forget it all."

"Yes, too soon, my boy, sometimes."

"Oh, but I do try to go on right, father. But, you see, with poor old
Serge it all sticks. He's regularly wounded."

"Yes, my boy, I know, and it's the sort of wound that will not heal.
Well, of course, that's all absurd. He mustn't go."

"He will, father, if something isn't done."

"Yes, I am afraid he would; so something must be done. Who is in the
wrong, boy--I or he?"

"It's this--_I_, father."

"Of course," said Cracis, laughing; "but I think I am in the right. The
master, if right, cannot humble himself to his man if he is in this
position, Marcus. If he is in the wrong it is noble and brave to give
way. Tell Serge to come to me at once. I will try to set him at one
with me; the sooner this is set aside the better for us all."

"Thank you, father," cried the boy, excitedly; and hurrying out he made
for the back of the villa, where he found Serge in his own particular
den, hard at work pack