eful not to confirm him in the feeling by discussing or
opposing it. She understood his nature well. She saw that some fortunate
incident or other, even time, might dissipate what had never been more
than a mere prejudice, while, if reasoned with, he was certain to argue
himself into the conviction that of all the rubs he had met in life his
son Jack's conduct was the hardest and the worst.

The long and painful silence that now ensued was at length broken by
a loud knocking at the door of the cottage, a sound so unusual as to
startle them both.

"That's at _our_ door, Bella," said he. "I wonder who it can be? Beecher
couldn't come out this time of the night."

"There it is again," said Bella, taking a light. "I 'll go and see who's
there."

"No, let me go," cried Kellett, taking the candle from her hand, and
leaving the room with the firm step of a man about to confront a danger.

"Captain Kellett lives here, does n't he?" said a tall young fellow, in
the dress of a soldier in the Rifles.

Kellett's heart sank heavily within him as he muttered a faint "Yes."

"I'm the bearer of a letter for him," said the soldier, "from his son."

"From Jack!" burst out Kellett, unable to restrain himself. "How is he?
Is he well?"

"He's all right now; he was invalided after that explosion in the
trenches, but he's all right again. We all suffered more or less on that
night;" and his eyes turned half inadvertently towards one side, where
Kellett now saw that an empty coat-sleeve was hanging.

"It was there you left your arm, then, poor fellow," said Kellett,
taking him kindly by the hand. "Come in and sit down; I'm Captain
Kellett. A fellow-soldier of Jack's, Bella," said Kellett, as he
introduced him to his daughter; and the young man bowed with all the
ease of perfect good-breeding.

"You left my brother well, I hope?" said Bella, whose womanly tact saw
at once that she was addressing her equal.

"So well that he must be back to his duty ere this. This letter is from
him; but as he had not many minutes to write, he made me promise to come
and tell you myself all about him. Not that I needed his telling me, for
I owe my life to your son, Captain Kellett; he carried me in on his back
under the sweeping fire of a Russian battery; two rifle bullets pierced
his chako as he was doing it; he must have been riddled with shot if the
Russians had not stopped their fire."

"Stopped their fire!"

"That they did, and cheered him