speak to her. To any
clandestine approach, any whispered conversation beneath her window, he
would give no thought. Having been asked by the master of the house not
to go there, he would not go; but he would see her, and tell his love.
And, more than that, he would win her.

That morning, while waiting for the time to approach when it would be
proper for him to go to Midbranch, he had been reading in a bound volume
of an old English magazine, which was one of the five books the cottage
possessed, an account of a battle which had interested him very much.
The commander of one army had massed his forces along and below the
crest of a line of low hills, the extreme right of his line being
occupied by a strong force of cavalry. The army opposed to him was much
stronger than his own, and it was not long before the battle began to go
very much against him. His positions on the left were carried by the
combined charge of the larger portion of the enemy's forces, and, in
spite of a vigorous resistance, his lines were forced back, down the
hill, and into the valley. It was quite evident he could make no stand,
and was badly beaten. Thereupon, he sent orders to his generals on the
left to retreat, in as good order as possible, across a small river in
their rear. While this movement was in progress, and the enemy was
making the greatest efforts to prevent it, the commander put himself at
the head of his cavalry and led them swiftly from the scene of battle.
He took them diagonally over the crest of the hill, down the other side,
and then charging with this fresh body of horse upon the rear and camp
of the enemy, he swiftly captured the general-in-chief, his staff, and
the Minister of War, who had come down to see how things were going on.
With these important prisoners he dashed away, leaving the acephalous
enemy to capture his broken columns if he could.

This was the kind of thing Lawrence Croft would like to do. For an hour
or more he puzzled his brains as to how he should make such a cavalry
charge, and at last he came to a determination; he would ask Junius
Keswick to assist him. There was something odd about this plan which
pleased Croft. Keswick was his rival, with the powerful backing of Mr
Brandon and a whole tribe of relatives, and it might naturally be
supposed that he was the last man in the world of whom he would ask
assistance. But, looking at it from his point of view, Lawrence thought
that not only would he be ta