"What? And you’ve never let him know? Why have you kept it secret?" Hayward did not answer. She continued. "He would be very grateful. He does not know who it was, for I’ve heard him say so. All that he knows is that it was a trooper of the 10th." She stopped and waited for an answer, but he stood in silent indecision as to what he should say to her. If he should now disclose himself the President would doubtless weaken the force of his obligation by giving him in token of his gratitude some appointment which not only would fall far short of the lieutenant’s commission to which he aspired, but also would remove him from the young woman who in the last minute had become so simply and earnestly sympathetic in her manner. He weighed the pros and cons quickly. "Why haven’t you told him?" persisted Helen. "I have preferred not, Miss Helen. In fact there are reasons why I cannot—must not—now." "What reasons?" demanded Helen. "Please, Miss Helen, I cannot tell you—nor him." "You are not ashamed of it, surely?" "No, Miss Helen. I would do it again this morning—willingly—at any cost to myself. But do not ask me to tell of it." Helen regarded him narrowly for a minute in silence. "And you kept me from—death—also. Am I not to tell him of that either?" "Please no, Miss Helen. If I have done you a service and you think it worth reward, I ask that you repay me by telling no one that I am either your father’s rescuer or your own." Mystery always annoyed Helen unbearably, and she looked at Hayward as if uncertain whether to peremptorily demand his secret or to inform him she herself would acquaint her father with the facts he sought to conceal. Hayward saw something of her purpose in her eyes, and pleaded with her. "Miss Helen, I beg you. My reasons are imperative—and honourable. When the time comes that I may I will gladly tell your father, but if now you would do me the greatest favour you will say nothing of it." While Hayward was speaking it occurred to Helen that she willingly would have her father remain in ignorance of her disobedience and reckless riding and its consequent narrowly averted disaster. This consideration, together with Hayward’s earnestness in his mystifying request, finally prevailed upon her. "Very well, Hayward, if you insist. You only will be the loser. It is puzzling to me.... But tell me about your rescue of papa." Hayward, glad to buy her silence, gave her a modest account of his very creditable bit of heroism, and in response to Helen’s interested questioning he was still recounting incidents of the battle and his hospital experiences when they reached the Lake Drive and quickened their pace into a fast canter for home. They arrived and alighted and Hayward got the horses away to the stable without any one’s seeing the dust-splashed mare.