ithout another word."

"Do, sir, do," said Seaton bitterly; but he added more gently, "you will
be sorry for it when you come to your senses."

At this moment Wilson entered with a message. "If you please, sir, Miss
Rolleston says the robber had no beard. Miss have never noticed Seaton's
face, but his beard she have; and, oh, if you please, sir, she begged me
to ask him--Was it you that fired the pistol and shot the robber?"

The delivery of this ungrammatical message, but rational query was like a
ray of light streaming into a dark place. It changed the whole aspect of
things. As for Seaton, he received it as if Heaven was speaking to him
through Wilson. His sullen air relaxed, the water stood in his eyes, he
smiled affectionately, and said in a low, tender voice, "Tell her I heard
some bad characters talking about this house--that was a month ago--so
ever since then I have slept in the tool-house to watch. Yes, I shot the
robber with my revolver, and I marked one or two more; but they were
three to one; I think I must have got a blow on the head; for I felt
nothing--"

Here he was interrupted by a violent scream from Wilson. She pointed
downward, with her eyes glaring; and a little blood was seen to be
trickling slowly over Seaton's stocking and shoe.

"Wounded," said the general's servant, Tom, in the business-like accent
of one who had seen a thousand wounds.

"Oh, never mind that," said Seaton. "It can't be very deep, for I don't
feel it;" then, fixing his eyes on General Rolleston, he said, in a voice
that broke down suddenly, "There stands the only man who has wounded me
to-night, to hurt me."

The way General Rolleston received this point-blank reproach surprised
some persons present, who had observed only the imperious and iron side
of his character. He hung his head in silence a moment; then, being
discontented with himself, he went into a passion with his servants for
standing idle. "Run away, you women," said he roughly. "Now, Tom, if you
are good for anything, strip the man and stanch his wound. Andrew, a
bottle of port, quick!"

Then, leaving him for a while in friendly hands, he went to his daughter
and asked her if she saw any objection to a bed being made up in the
house for the wounded convict.

"Oh, papa," said she, "why, of course not. I am all gratitude. What is he
like, Wilson? for it is a most provoking thing, I never noticed his face,
only his beautiful beard glittering in the sunshine