Slowly reining in his horse, Hayward brought him to a standstill and gently lowered his astonished young mistress to the ground. She was almost too overcome to stand, and walked unsteadily a few steps before she recovered herself. Hayward had thrown himself off Prince William and was leading him back down the road to where the mare had fallen. She had already picked herself up, minus a saddle and plus a few bruises, and was standing in the road comparatively unhurt but shaking as with an ague. Hayward approached her quietly and she came eagerly up to him as if to escape from her fears. He looked her over carefully, and finding no serious damage done, set himself about brushing the dust from her with wisps of weeds and grass. Helen came down while he worked with the mare, and watched him some minutes without speaking. She hardly could think of anything civil to say. She knew that she had disobeyed orders and that he had warned her—and that made her angry. The very silence of the man became irritating to her. When he had done all he could to put the mare in order he picked up Helen’s saddle and started to put it on, but stopped to ask whether he should exchange mounts with her. "No," his young mistress replied. "I’ve ridden her here and I will ride her home." The negro put her saddle on the mare while the girl looked on. When he came to buckle the girth he found that the leather tongue was torn off. He lengthened the girth on the other side and proceeded to bore with his pocket-knife a new hole in the short broken tab. Helen’s eyes fell at length on the knife. She looked at it uncertainly a few moments, and then lost interest in everything else. Finally she could keep quiet no longer. "Where did you get that knife, Hayward?" she asked with something like accusation in her voice. "Miss Helen, I got this knife in—that is, this knife belongs to—" "Wait a moment," interrupted Helen. "Let me see it.... Yes, it’s the same. I gave my father this knife on his birthday four years ago. I had the carving done at Vantine’s. How long have you had it?" "Miss Helen, I have had it long before I entered your father’s service. I—" "Yes, I know; but just how long have you had it, Hayward?" "Well, Miss Helen, to be accurate, I’ve had it three years and—four months." "Hayward, were you ever in the army—the cavalry—the 10th Cavalry?" "Yes, Miss Helen." "You were in the battle of Valencia?" "Yes, Miss Helen." "You took this knife from an officer whose life you had saved, didn’t you?" "Yes, Miss Helen." "Papa says the negro trooper saved his life and stole his knife." "But I did not steal the knife, Miss Helen—I did not know I had it till two months after the battle, when they gave me back my clothes in the hospital. There was—" "That stealing part is one of papa’s jokes, Hayward. But you didn’t know it was papa, did you?" "Yes, Miss Helen. I knew him when I saw him fall."