"I thank you for the assurance, Miss Helen. Your father is my ideal of a fearless and just man. I count more upon his fearlessness and fairness than upon his gratitude. But my heart is too keenly set on realizing this ambition for me to omit to enlist any favourable influence." "But why are you a footman?" Helen repeated the question with which she had first addressed him. "I was on my furlough, Miss Helen, when I took this place temporarily, fully intending to re-enlist when my time was up; but my mother’s break-down just before that time compelled me to forego re-enlistment and to hold this position which pays a wage sufficient to support the two of us. A soldier’s pay would not accomplish it, and my mother’s condition would not permit me to leave her. However, I have not thought of foregoing my career as a soldier. I am studying every day to prepare myself for the duties of an officer. My Harvard training fortunately supplies me with all but the purely technical knowledge required, and makes it possible for me to acquire that without assistance. I will win yet, Miss Helen." "A Harvard man _must_ win." Helen spoke with dogmatic faith. "And _I_ must win,—not only a commission, but the ’well-done’ which is a soldier’s real recompense for a life-time’s service. Not only my ’Harvard lineage,’ as you once called it, but my grandfather’s death, my father’s life, my mother’s toil and sacrifice, lay the compulsion of endeavour and success upon me. My mother is a hopeless invalid, but I pray she may live to read my lieutenant’s commission. I have concealed from her the juggling with my name. I—" "And why did you juggle with it?" "Some pride in my patronymic and in that very Harvard lineage would not permit me to degrade either by becoming a footman as John Graham." "And again, then: why are you a footman? You have not answered that question yet. Your purposes in life are admirable, your motives are—beautiful, your success will be brilliant I earnestly hope,—even more, I dare to prophesy; and I shall be proud to know when your name is famous, that I gave you your first flag;"—She laughed—"but why did you become a _footman_, Hayward?" She pulled her horse up to wait for his answer. Hayward looked steadily in her eyes, which were regarding him with frank enquiry, until a quickness came to his pulses and a rashness into his heart, and by his gaze her eyes were beaten down and the colour brought to her cheek. "Why?" Her voice had as much of appeal as of demand. Hayward caught his breath quickly. "You have read Ruy Blas, Miss Helen?" "No," Helen answered. "What has that to do with it?"