'Ah, you licked him, did you?' returned Michael absently; 'and Jefferson minor is beaten. I hope you shook hands afterwards; fair fight and no malice, Willie. There's a shilling for you because you did not show the white feather in the face of the enemy. You will be at the head of a brigade yet, my boy.' For all Dr. Ross's lads were bitten with the military fever, and from Willie Sayers to broad-shouldered Jeff Davidson each boy nourished a secret passion and desire to follow the Captain's footsteps, and were ready to be hewed and slashed into small pieces if only the Victoria Cross might be their reward. As soon as the curly-haired champion had left him, Michael followed his cousin into the study. Dr. Ross had already lighted his lamp, and roused his fire into a cheerful blaze. 'What is it, Mike? you look bothered,' he asked, as Michael drew up his chair. 'Nothing wrong with the money, I hope?' 'What should be wrong about it?' returned Michael rather disdainfully; 'it is about as safe as the Bank of England. No; it is something very different--a matter that I may say concerns us all. I heard something the other day rather uncomfortable about the Blakes.' 'Nothing discreditable, I hope?' returned the Doctor quickly. 'I am afraid I must answer "Yes" to that question; but, at least, I can assure you that there is nothing against Blake.' Then Dr. Ross looked relieved. 'Whatever blame there is attaches solely to the mother.' 'Humph! With all her good looks, I never quite liked the woman,' ejaculated Dr. Ross _sotto voce_. Nevertheless, he had always been extremely pleasant with her; but perhaps a man finds it difficult to be otherwise with a pretty woman. 'I have unfortunately found out--but perhaps I ought to say fortunately for us--that Mrs. Blake is not a widow: her husband is living.' 'Good heavens!' 'Neither is her name Blake; she changed it at the time she discarded her husband. I am afraid you must prepare yourself for a shock, Dr. Ross, for the whole thing is distinctly reprehensible.' 'And you mean to tell me,' returned the Doctor, with an anxious blackness gathering on his brow, 'that Cyril--that my future son-in-law is cognisant of this fact?' 'No, no!' replied Michael eagerly; 'you are doing him injustice. Blake is as ignorant of the thing as you are yourself; he has no more to do with it than you or I. Did I not tell you that the sole blame rests with his mother?' Then the Doctor, in spite of his Christianity, pronounced a malediction against the Blake womankind. 'She is just the sort to get into mischief,' he continued; 'there is a dangerous look in her eyes. Go on, Michael; don't keep me in suspense. There is something disgraceful behind all this. What reason has any woman to allege for giving up her husband?'