“Here goes, then,” said the grave soldier. And with shouts and laughter the pair rushed on, Colonel Piercey enjoying the race as much as the child on his shoulder, who urged him with imaginary spurs, very dusty if not very dangerous, holding fast with one hand by the collar of his coat. He had not much experience of children, and the confidence and audacity of this little creature, his glee, his warm grip, in which there was a touch of terror, and his wild enjoyment at once of the movement and the danger, aroused a new sentiment in the heart of the mature man, who had known none of the emotions of paternity. Suddenly, however, a change came over his spirit: he reduced his pace, he ceased to laugh, he sank all at once--though with the child still shouting on his shoulder, endeavouring, with his little kicks upon his breast, to rouse him to further exertions--into the ordinary gravity of his aspect and demeanour. There had appeared suddenly out of the little gate of the beech avenue, a figure, which took all the fun out of Gerald Piercey, though he could not have told why. “Movver, movver! look here: I’m up upon my horse. But you needn’t be fwightened, for he’s not like Cousin Gervase. He’s holded me fast, fast all the way.” “Oh! Osy,” cried Margaret, holding her breath--for, indeed, it was a remarkable sight to see the unutterable gravity of Colonel Piercey endeavouring solemnly to take off his hat to her, with the child, flushed and delighted, upon his shoulder. There was something comic in the extreme seriousness which had suddenly fallen upon Osy’s bearer. “You are making yourself a bore to Colonel Piercey,” she said. “Not at all; we have been enjoying ourselves very much. He is a delightful companion,” said Gerald, but in a tone which suggested a severe despair. “Will you get down, Osy, or would you rather I should carry you home?” “I would wather----” said the child, and then he paused. “I tan’t see your face,” he said, pettishly, “but you feels twite different, as if you was tired. I fink I’ll get down.” Colonel Piercey’s comment to himself was that the child was frightened for his mother, but, naturally, he did not express this sentiment. He lifted Osy down and set him on the ground. “Where’s the nurse now?” he said; “a long way behind. You see, Osy, it’s good to have a basis to fall back upon when new operations are ordered by the ruling powers.” Could the man not refrain from a gibe at her, even to her child, Margaret thought, with wonder? But she was surprised to see that he stood still, as if with the intention of speaking to her. “You are going out?” he said, in his solemn tones. “Is Lady Piercey better?” “She is no better; but I must attempt, in some way, to get the news conveyed to Gervase. Her eyes turn constantly to the door. They are still quite living, though not so strong. She must see him, if it is possible. She _must_ see him, if there is any way--her only child.”