St. George shot a merry glance at Harry from under his eyebrows, and with a wave of his hand and a deprecating shake of his head at the colonel said: “These rovers and freebooters, Talbot, have so lorded it over their serfs that they've lost all respect for their betters. Give me your hand, you vagabond, and if you break my neck I'll make you bury me.” The colonel looked on silently and a sharp pain gripped his throat. When, in all his life, had he ever been spoken to by his boy in that spirit, and when in all his life had he ever seen that same tenderness in Harry's eyes? What had he not missed? “Harry, may I make a suggestion?” he asked almost apologetically. The young fellow turned his head in respectful attention: “Put St. George in my carriage--it is much more comfortable--and let me drive him home--my eyes are quite good in the daytime, after I get used to the light, and I am still able to take the road. Then put your servant and mine in the hack with St. George's and your own luggage.” “Capital idea!” cried Harry enthusiastically “I never thought of it! Attention company! Eyes to the front, Mr. Temple! You'll now remain on waiting orders until I give you permission to move, and as this may take some time--please hold on to him, father, until I get his chair” (they were already out on the landing--on the very plank where Harry had passed the night) “you'll go back to your quarters... Here sir, these are your quarters,” and Harry dragged the chair into position with his foot. “Down with you... that's it... and you will stay here until the baggage and hospital train arrives, when you'll occupy a front seat in the van--and there will be no grumbling or lagging behind of any kind, remember, or you'll get ten days in the calaboose!” Pawson was on the curbstone, his face shining, his semaphore arms and legs in action, his eyes searching the distance, when the two vehicles came in sight. He had heard the day boat was very late, and as there had been a heavy fog over night, did not worry about the delay in their arrival. What troubled him more was the change in Mr. Temple's appearance. He had gone away ruddy, erect, full of vigor and health, and here he was being helped out of the carriage, pale, shriveled, his eyes deep set in his head. His voice, though, was still strong if his legs were shaky, and there seemed also to be no diminution in the flow of his spirits. Wesley had kept that part of him intact whatever changes the climate had made.