ing. He declared that it seemed to him too good
to be true. His thoughts did not appear to dwell at all upon his own
share in this transaction, though surely to him that share was of
infinite importance, but only on the fact that Chetwynde was saved.

"And is Chetwynde really to be ours, after all?" he cried, at the end
of a burst of delight, repeating the words, boy-like, over and over
again, as though he could never tire of hearing the words repeated.
After all, one can not wonder at his thoughtlessness and enthusiasm.
Around Chetwynde all the associations of his life were twined. Until
he had joined the regiment he had known no other home; and beyond
this, to this high-spirited youth, in whom pride of birth and name
rose very high, there had been from his earliest childhood a bitter
humiliation in the thought that the inheritance of his ancestors,
which had never known any other than a Chetwynde for its master, must
pass from him forever into alien hands. Hitherto his love for his
father had compelled him to refrain from all expression of his
feelings about this, for he well knew that, bitter as it would be for
him to give up Chetwynde, to his father it would be still worse--it
would be like rending his very heartstrings. Often had he feared that
this sacrifice to honor on his father's part would be more than could
be endured. He had, for his father's sake, put a restraint upon
himself; but this concealment of his feelings had only increased the
intensity of those feelings; the shadow had been gradually deepening
over his whole life, throwing gloom over the sunlight of his joyous
youth; and now, for the first time in many years, that shadow seemed
to be dispelled. Surely there is no wonder that a mere boy should be
reckless of the future in the sunshine of such a golden present.

When General Pomeroy appeared again, Guy seized his hand in a burst
of generous emotion, with his eyes glistening with tears of joy.

"How can I ever thank you," he cried, impetuously, "for what you have
done for us! As you have done by us, so will I do by your
daughter--to my life's end--so help me God!"

And all this time did it never suggest itself to the young man that
there might be a reverse to the brilliant picture which his fancy was
so busily sketching--that there was required from him something more
than money or estate; something, indeed, in comparison with which
even Chetwynde itself was as nothing? No. In his inexperience and