“I would like you to dine with me, Major Hardwicke,” said the old Commissioner, “for I have something now to say to you.” He rang a silver bell, and, whispering to Simpson, faced his young visitor, who had bowed in acceptance. The butler returned in a few moments with a superb Indian saber, sheathed in gold, and shimmering with splendid jewels. He stood, mute, as Johnstone gravely said: “I learned from Simpson, on my return from Calcutta, of your prompt gallantry in aiding my daughter in her hour of peril.” He continued, “Simpson alone, was left to tell me, as I have sent the child away to the hills for a couple of months. For reasons of my own, I do not care to have a motherless girl exposed to the indiscriminate hubbub of merely official society. The young lady will probably not remain in India. I therefore sent them all away before this official visit, which would have forced a child, almost yet a school girl, out into the glare of this local junketing,” he said with feeling. “Take this saber, Major. It was given up by Mir-zah Shah, a Warrior Prince, in old days, so the legend goes. It is the sword of a king’s son. It will recall your own saber play so neatly conceived, and, as a personal reminder, wear this for me! It is a rare diamond, which I have treasured for many years. And its old Hindustanee name was ‘Bringer of Prosperity.’” Hardwicke bowed, and murmured his thanks. The nabob slipped a superb ring from his finger, and then, as if he had relieved his mind forever of a painful duty, dismissed the subject, almost feverishly entertaining his solitary guest at the splendid feast which had been prepared for General Abercromby. It was late when the strangely assorted convives separated. “I will now send Simpson home with you, in my carriage,” solicitously remarked Johnstone, as the hour grew late. “There is a prince’s ransom on that sword--and, you did not bring your noble charger! You must treat him well for my sake--for my daughter’s sake!” “Will Miss Johnstone return soon?” said the heart-hungry lover, catching at this last straw. “It is undetermined! I may send them home in a few months. But, if I have any little influence left, ‘at Headquarters,’ that shall always be exerted for you. I am always glad to meet you, your father’s son, for Colonel Hardwicke was a true soldier of the olden days--brave, loyal, and beyond reproach.” The lover’s beating heart was smothered in this flowing honey. “Ah! I must trust to Simpson!” he mused. “The old man is a sly one!” Politely bowed out by the stern, lonely old man, Major Hardwicke departed, his conversational guns spiked with the deft compliments, as the mighty clatter of the returning General filled the courtyard of the Marble House.