“Maude,” he said by-and-by, after a few commonplace phrases, and after he had watched her for some minutes in silence, “I am sure there is something amiss with you to-day. You are ill--you----” “Oh, no, not ill. Only a little worried.” “Worried--but about what?” “I heard something about you last night, Mr. Tredethlyn,” said Miss Hillary,--it was the first time she had called him Mr. Tredethlyn since their engagement,--“something which you never told me yourself. Mr. Lowther,--a friend of papa’s, who has just come home from Van Diemen’s Land, told me--that--that--you had been----” “His servant! Yes, Maude, it is quite true. I was a soldier, and I was obliged to obey orders. I was ordered to attend upon Ensign Lowther, and I did my best to serve him well. When I enlisted in her Majesty’s service, I had all sorts of foolish fancies about fighting and glory, but they all dwindled down to the usual routine. No fighting, no glory, no desperate attacks upon Indian fortresses, no scaling walls to plant the British flag upon the enemy’s ramparts; but any amount of drill and hard work, and a discontented fine gentleman to wait upon.” A flood of crimson rushed into Maude’s face as Francis said this; but the young man’s head was drooping over the embroidery frame, and he was trifling mechanically with the loose Berlin wool lying on Miss Hillary’s canvas. “I am afraid you think it a kind of degradation to you, that _I_ should have been a servant, Maude?” he said presently. “You never told me----” “No--I told you I had been a private in the 51st. The other business was only a part of my duty.” Maude was silent for some moments after this. She sat looking dreamily out of the window, while Francis still twisted the Berlin wools in his strong fingers. Maude was the first to speak. “Was it Mr. Lowther you meant just now, when you spoke of a discontented fine gentleman?” she asked, with some slight hesitation. “Yes; I never served any other master. Ensign Lowther was horribly discontented. He was one of those men who can’t take things easily; but I can understand a good deal of his peevish restlessness now. I can sympathize with him now, Maude.” His voice grew low and tender as he said this. “Why?” asked Miss Hillary, rather coldly. “He was in love, Maude,--an unhappy attachment, as I understood, to some lady--an heiress, I think--whose money was a hindrance to a marriage between them.”