’I have sold out,’ said Herring, slightly colouring. ’Sold out, my boy! sold out after having been in the army only a few years! That is a very rash and inconsiderate proceeding.’ ’I could hardly help myself,’ he answered. ’I got into trouble. When the accident to Mr. Strange and his daughter took place I was on my way to Exeter to rejoin my regiment. I had been summoned back. I could not desert the Countess Mirelle, with her father dead and without a protector; and so I wrote to my Colonel for a short extension of leave. He refused it; but addressed his reply to Welltown, my little place in Cornwall, to which he had written before. At Welltown my presence here was unknown, and the letter was forwarded to Exeter, and it lay at my quarters till I went there, which, as you know, was not for some time. When I got to Exeter at last, I found that my neglect had got me into a serious scrape. Not only so, but the regiment was at Portsmouth, under immediate orders to sail for Honduras. I had difficulty in exchanging. Moreover, I felt that I must be here, to superintend the working of the silver lead mine; so I sold out.’ ’John,’ exclaimed Mr. Battishill, ’it is all very fine your pretending that interest in the icy Countess and enthusiasm over a mine detained you. Nothing of the sort. You found us in trouble and unable to help ourselves, and so you sacrificed your own prospects for the sake of pulling us through.’ He pressed the young man’s hand. ’I owe you a debt I can never repay.’ Mr. Battishill did not know all. He knew nothing of Mirelle’s diamonds consigned to Herring’s trust. He entertained no suspicion of the interest Herring felt in that cold and haughty girl. He little dreamed that Herring had taken on himself the double office of guardian angel to Mirelle as well as to the house of Battishill. He did not suppose that even care for that poor savage, Joyce, had mingled with the other motives in deciding the young man on abandoning his military career. When Herring came out of doors for the first time, he found Joyce in the garden awaiting him. She was crying and laughing for joy. ’Maister,’ she said, ’you will keep your word about them stockings.’ ’Certainly,’ he replied with a smile. ’I give you three months in which to learn to knit, and after that I will wear no stockings but those of your knitting.’ ’Good-bye,’ she said abruptly. ’Whither are you going?’ ’To larn to knit,’ she answered. *CHAPTER XXXV.* *BEGGARY.* Hope is hard to kill. One last desperate effort Orange made to recover the Captain. That same night, whilst Mirelle was writing to John Herring, Orange wrote to Trecarrel, but her letter was not as brief as that of Mirelle.