F

CHAPTER I.

EW men knew better than old Heston what warfare

meant. He was a soldier, and had fought on the many battle-fields of Spain, and followed the standard of the "Iron Duke" at Waterloo; now, aged and disabled,

he had returned to his native place to live out the remnant of his days.

Everybody called him "Old Heston," everybody, from the Squire up at the Hall down to the little grand-niece who was his housekeeper.

Her name was Annie Grey; she was an orphan, and when her only brother went to London to be apprenticed to a trade, she was glad to go to her old uncle's cottage, to take care of him, and that he might take care of her. She had no playfellows nor companions, and people thought her old-fashioned and odd because of her quaint, shy ways.

She kept the cottage beautifully clean and neat, and did her best to patch and renew her own and her uncle's garments, and was generally a good deal too busy to consider what people thought about her. The cottage was some distance from the village, down a quiet lane ending in a mere cart-track through the fields; so there were but few passers-by, excepting the farmers' men with their teams, or, in winter time, the fox-hunters returning weary from the chase.

But now and then visitors would come to the cottage itself: the Squire's two sons, tall, handsome lads, who loved to listen to the old man's tales of hard fighting and forced marchings; and a neighbour or two, who found the cheerful, keen-witted old soldier good company for an idle hour.

One evening, late in summer, a young man walked slowly beneath the trees towards the cottage; his face was pale, as though from long illness, and his step fell languidly upon the turf.

"May I rest here awhile?" he asked of old Heston, who was sitting on the stone bench at his door.

The soldier rose, and saluted him courteously. "Surely, sir," he said. Annie, bring a chair for the gentleman." "No; I like this bench best," was the reply. "How hot it is!" and as he spoke he removed his hat and wiped the moisture from his brow.

"You're not strong, you see, sir, and you feel any bit of

exertion," old Heston remarked; "I know well what that

sort of weakness is myself."

"Do you?" said the young man.

"How did you so

soon find out that I am weak? I fancied I looked quite well again now; I am but tired with my walk."

“I should know something about sick men," old Heston rejoined: "I myself was nigh upon six months in hospital once; and six months more besides that, I reckon, putting together the odd weeks and days. I've been a soldier, sir." "I discovered that as quickly as you discovered that I had been ill," the stranger said, smiling.

"Well, sir, I suppose training shows," responded old Heston, in pleased tones; "training shows," he repeated, "and I've had plenty of it in my time."

Then they began talking of the wars; of the battles in which old Heston had borne a part, and of the deeds of valour he had seen in countries beyond the seas. He loved dearly to talk of it all; and this time he had got a new listener, and there was no fear of his repeating anything over again.

"I, too, am a soldier," the young man said, when the old man at length brought his stories to an end.

Heston looked up, startled. Indeed, sir!" he cried, starting to his feet, and raising his hand in military salute: "an officer, maybe, just joined ?”

"No, my friend; merely a man in the ranks, and a very worthless one often, I'm afraid. Indeed, so weak and wrongheaded am I that I find I must keep close to my Captain's side, lest I should fail altogether and prove a downright traitor, and go over to the enemy."

Old Heston appeared so mystified, standing there, gazing blankly at the speaker's beardless face, that the young man hastened to add :

"I belong to the army of the Lord Jesus Christ; but the battle is hard and sore, and if I lose sight of my Captain I disgrace His name by weakness and by cowardice that same hour."

"I understand, sir, now," old Heston answered, his face brightening as he saw the meaning of the words. "We must all be Christians, for sure.”

"You have told me tales of your experience," the stranger said; "now I will tell you a thing which I have seen. A wide and beautiful country was once invaded by a dangerous enemy-I call him dangerous because he was so clever. He did not bring up his troops honestly and openly to battle, but employed all manner of deceptions. He disguised his forces, and sent them through the land to slay, and work riot and wrong. He would enter there himself, under the white folds of a flag of truce, killing where he could; and if that was impossible, uttering words which sounded kindly, and giving advice which sounded plausible; but the words were treachery, and to follow the advice was death."

"He must have been clever, in truth!" old Heston cried, aroused and interested by the young man's earnest manner, and by the tale which he was telling with that unconscious pathos which is given by deep feeling even to simple speech.

"Yes, I said that he was clever," the stranger resumed; "and against all his arts the King of the country and His faithful servants could only bring honesty and truth; for the King would stoop to no subterfuges, not even to what you might call fair fighting enough. This King did not stay safely within His palace walls whilst His people were being deceived, tempted, and slain; but He stood amongst them, exposed to all they suffered, and undergoing the worst of what they had to endure."

"He was a King worth fighting for!" old Heston said, beckoning Annie from the doorway that she might hear better.

"Ah, but thousands and thousands of His people did not think so," the young man said. "They saw Him in His plain robes; they saw how battle-stained and weary He was, and they despised Him in their hearts. Whilst He was

flinging His life away for their sakes, they thought only of the enemy's false words and promises. Whilst their King bade them be of good cheer, for that He was both able and willing to save them, they coldly turned away, laid down their swords, unclasped their armour, and went over to the other side.

"It was only for His people's sake He fought. He had other kingdoms richer and fairer than this land, where His lightest word was law, and where all loved and honoured Him as He deserved. But He could not stay afar off when the enemy was ravaging and spoiling: He came to aid His poor, weak, suffering people, bidding them to stand firm and be of good cheer, for that all would be well now He had come.

"Just a few hearkened to His voice, and took up their arms; but even those few soon grew listless and weary. The enemy was so busy, and, as I said, so cunning! He gave the sentinels sleeping draughts, so that they dozed upon their watch; he filled the air with a certain vapour, which caused mole-hills to look like mountains, or caused dangerous chasms and deep pitfalls to appear but tiny obstacles which called for no care to avoid."

"I pity the King's army, then, sir; it was hard to fight against such sorcery as that."

"Yes, it was hard; but for every attack the enemy made, and every wicked trick he tried, the King gave His people some means to resist him successfully. It was only when they forgot to obey His orders, and neglected to use the defences He gave them, that they were surprised, deceived, and slain."

"And what was the end of it all?" Heston asked, while little Annie laid down her sewing to watch for the reply.