g will make me break her heart; I will go
through with it--yes, I will go through with it."

Kitty Sharston's clear eyes also gazed across the hall, but she saw no
one present--only, far, far away, a lonely man with an iron-grey head,
and a face which was the dearest face in all the world to her. She saw
this man, and felt that for his sake no effort could be too great. If
she won the Scholarship all would indeed be well; but if she failed she
could at least be good, she could at least submit. Oh, yes; oh, yes;
it would be fearfully hard, but God could give her strength.

As to Mary Bateman, she looked at her father and her father looked at
her, and then she held herself erect and said to herself, "I can but
fail, and in any case I have done my best."

Just then, the murmurs of applause having died away, Sir John took up
the first of the envelopes, opened it, unfolded the sheet of paper
which lay within, and commenced to read.

The essay on Heroism which he first read happened to be written by Mary
Bateman. It was practical, written in good English, the spelling all
correct, and also contained some fairly well-chosen allusions to great
heroes of history. The essay was thoughtful, and, although there was
little originality in it, the guests listened with marked attention.
The reading of the essay occupied exactly ten minutes, for Sir John
read it slowly, pausing often to give full weight to the words which he
read. He had a beautiful, mellow, perfectly-trained voice, and Mary's
somewhat lame utterances could not have sounded to better advantage.

When he had finished the guests applauded, but without any intense
enthusiasm. He laid the paper down before him on the table, and then
proceeded to read the second essay. This had altogether a different
note. The allusions to history were far less numerous, but the heart
of the young writer made itself felt. It was the work of an immature
mind, but here and there was a delicate touch which pointed to the
possibility of future genius. Here and there was a graceful allusion
which caused Sir John's own voice to falter, and above all things,
through each word there breathed a lofty and noble spirit.

"Only the daughter of a soldier could have written those words,"
thought Sir John; "surely this must be Kitty's work, and surely no
other essay could approach hers."

So he thought, and as he came to the last words his voice rang out
clear and full, and when he ceased