te," he said, looking straight into her eyes,
"that you and Gwen have little in common--and--and--" he hesitated.

"Little in common!" said Lady Charlotte quietly. "She has suffered
greatly."

The Pilot was quick to catch the note of sadness in her voice.

"Yes," he said, wondering at her tone, "she has suffered greatly."

"And," continued Lady Charlotte, "she is bright as the morning, The Duke
says." There was a look of pain in her face.

The Pilot's face lit up, and he came nearer and laid his hand
caressingly upon her beautiful horse.

"Yes, thank God!" he said quickly, "bright as the morning."

"How can that be?" she asked, looking down into his face. "Perhaps she
would tell me."

"Lady Charlotte," said The Pilot with a sudden flush, "I must ask your
pardon. I was wrong. I thought you--" he paused; "but go to Gwen, she
will tell you, and you will do her good."

"Thank you," said Lady Charlotte, putting out her hand, "and perhaps you
will come and see me, too."

The Pilot promised and stood looking after us as we rode up the trail.

"There is something more in your Pilot than at first appears," she said.
"The Duke was quite right."

"He is a great man," I said with enthusiasm; "tender as a woman and with
the heart of a hero."

"You and Bill and The Duke seem to agree about him," she said, smiling.

Then I told her tales of The Pilot, and of his ways with the men, till
her blue eyes grew bright and her beautiful face lost its proud look.

"It is perfectly amazing," I said, finishing my story, "how these
devil-may-care rough fellows respect him, and come to him in all sorts
of trouble. I can't understand it, and yet he is just a boy."

"No, not amazing," said Lady Charlotte slowly. "I think I understand it.
He has a true man's heart; and holds a great purpose in it. I've seen
men like that. Not clergymen, I mean, but men with a great purpose."

Then, after a moment's thought, she added: "But you ought to care for
him better. He does not look strong."

"Strong!" I exclaimed quickly, with a queer feeling of resentment at my
heart. "He can do as much riding as any of us."

"Still," she replied, "there's something in his face that would make his
mother anxious." In spite of my repudiation of her suggestion, I found
myself for the next few minutes thinking of how he would come exhausted
and faint from his long rides, and I resolved that he must have a rest
and change.

It was one of those early Septe