major," said the lady, extracting a
newspaper from a heap under the dinner-waggon. "He seems to have been
mixed up in a rather discreditable affair, as far as I could make out,
but I didn't read the report through."

The major took the paper, and read a short report of the proceedings at
the Liverpool Police-Court.

"You didn't read it through, you say," observed he, when he had
finished; "you saw he was let off?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid--well, it's very sad for them all."

"Of course it is," blurted out the soldier, "especially when none of
their old friends seem to care anything about them. Excuse me, Mrs
Osborn," added he, seeing that the lady coloured. "I wasn't meaning
you, but myself. Cruden was on old comrade, who did me more than one
good turn. I must certainly take a day in town on my way back and find
them out. As for the boy, I don't believe he's got it in him to be a
blackleg."

The major was as good as his word. He sacrificed a day of his loved
pastime to look for his old friend's widow in London.

After a good deal of hunting he discovered her address, and presented
himself, with not a little wonderment at the shabbiness of her quarters,
at Dull Street.

Barely convalescent, and still in the agony of suspense as to Reginald's
fate, Mrs Cruden was able to see no one. But the major was not thus to
be baulked of his friendly intentions. Before he left the house he
wrote a letter, which in due time lay in the widow's hands and brought
tears to her eyes.

"Dear Mrs Cruden,--I am on my way back to Malta, and sorry not to see
you. We all have our troubles, but you seem to have had more than your
share; and what I should have liked would be to see whether there was
anything an old friend of your husband could do to serve you. I trust
you will not resent the liberty I take when I say I have instructed my
agent, whose address is enclosed, to put himself at your disposal in any
emergency when you may need either advice or any other sort of aid. He
is a good fellow, and understands any service you may require (and
emergencies often do arise) is to be rendered on my account. As to your
eldest son, about whom I read a paragraph in the papers the other day,
nothing will make me believe he is anything but his honest father's
honest son. My brother-in-law, whom you will remember, is likely
shortly to have an opportunity of introducing a young fellow into an
East India house in the City. I may mentio