“Albeit the subject pains me, I will tell thee, Jane. Yes, he is worthy of a woman’s love. From his first youth he has been, as thou knowest well, a soldier. It was his father’s pride to see him, when but a stripling, not so tall as the boy Arthur, intrusted with a standard in the day of battle. In his first field, a bullet struck him down upon his knees; still, with uplifted arms, he waved his ensign, and strove to keep his place in the close ranks, till faint with pain he fell: but, even then, he grasped the colour staff so firmly, that a stout lieutenant, who, for its safety, took it from him, was forced to bruise his boyish hands ere they would let go their sacred charge. On the morrow, as he lay upon his bloody straw in the field hospital, the great Gustavus gave him the Iron Cross of Honour, and with it a commission in his guard of horse,--rewards for this first proof of constancy. “This, at our table, his father did relate with such a pride as doth become a parent. Francis the while coloured a little, and looked down for modesty, but said nothing. I felt hot tears upon my cheek; and when they drank his health, and I did pledge him, he saw those tears. Such was the birth of our attachment; and kind words, and gentle actions, and books, and music, and many things, did feed it, till it grew to love; and then came trouble. Thou knowest well the bitter feud that blazed forth suddenly between our fathers. The quarrel was of public matters; for my father never knew nor even guessed our love. ’Tis long, long past that blissful season: let’s talk of it no more.” “Thank you, dear Katharine,” said Jane, with swimming eyes and faltering tongue; “I feel for you. I love you so, it was but right to tell me this. You wish for silence; be it so: for the world I would not pain you.” Their conversation dropped, and they gave themselves to the grave thoughts it had called up.