“Well, look here, sir,” he answered gravely. “You have treated me like a comrade, and I want to treat you like one!” “Go on, old chap. I’m listening.” Not without some nervousness the other proceeded: “I saw in the _Journal_ last evening that you had dined on Sunday evening in the Holland with Colonel Ogilvie.” “Those damned reporters!” interrupted Athlyne, but at once told him with a wave of his hand to proceed: “That hung in my mind from something you said to me the other evening. That confidence which I shall always value.” Athlyne nodded. He went on: “I know something of that family. I’m from Kentucky myself; and I was there for a while--that time of the nigger disturbance you know--and I was quartered not far from Airlville. I have met Colonel Ogilvie; but it was on duty and amongst a good many others so he would not remember me. I never met any of his family; but I need not tell you that I fell in love with Miss Ogilvie. No fellow could help that; one glimpse of her is enough---- However---- I heard a lot down there about the old man, and as I was keen about the girl I took it all in and remembered it. I want to tell you this, because he is a very peculiar man. He is a splendid old chap. As brave as a lion, and as masterful as Teddy Roosevelt himself. But all the same he has his ideas which are hardly up to date. He is as stern as Fate in matters of--of--well, social matters. They told me a story of him which when I recalled it has troubled me since I saw you. It was about a man whose identity he mistook and who for a jest allowed the error to go, and kept it up. He was a Northern of course, for a Southern would have understood, and our boys are sometimes very keen on a joke. But it was no joke when the old man tumbled to it. He called it an unforgivable outrage and insisted on fighting over it. I tell you it nearly cost the joker his life. He was drilled right through, and only escaped death by a miracle. I tell you all this, sir, because of your confidence in me. If I might make a suggestion--you won’t think it beastly presumptuous of me will you?” Athlyne held out his hand; the other after shaking it, went on: “I would venture to suggest that--of course if you have not done so already--you should take him into your confidence before leaving here. It might be awkward if the old man were to find out for himself. He would think it a want of trust, and he might never forgive it. I am sure you would like to meet him and his again--you know you can’t save the life of a girl like that every day----” He stopped there, confused and blushing. Athlyne was touched by the young man’s kindly frankness and sincerity. He thanked him heartily but in a regretful way added: