Colonel Woodburn, looking his old self again, was genuinely pleased to welcome the boy. For half an hour he drew him out on the subject of the Lucknow campaign, and then Ethel claimed her brother-in-law again. "Come and see my presents, Ted," she ordered. "With pleasure--oh, by the way, I've brought my little contribution. Hope you'll like it." She gave a little scream of delight as he handed her an open box. "Oh, how beautiful! How lovely! Ted, you shouldn't have given me anything like this. It's much too good." "It's not half good enough." "Look at this necklet, father! Is it not exquisite?" Colonel Woodburn examined the present, and gave a whistle of amazement. "Ted, my boy, wherever did you get this?" he asked. "It's worth hundreds or I'm no judge. Diamonds and rubies of this size! And what workmanship!" "It's from Lucknow, colonel. Loot, I'm afraid." "Loot?" The colonel looked more serious, as he asked the question. "I'm not certain--only circumstantial evidence. You see, there was a lot of looting when we entered Lucknow, and the Sikhs and Jung Bahadur's Gurkhas got nearly everything. Jung's men took several thousand carts filled with loot back to Nepal. A day or two before I was wounded I happened to save the life of one of Jung's Gurkhas who was being set upon by a crowd. He seemed to be an officer of good standing, and he was very grateful, and when I spoke to him in Magar-Kura, he was just delighted. When I was well enough I found that this parcel had been handed to me, and this necklace was inside, and not a word of explanation. So I guess they came from him, but couldn't make sure as he'd gone. It was probably one of many things he'd picked up in the palace, but I don't know that for certain. They were allowed to loot for a little while to repay their services, so it's come by perfectly honestly, Ethel. I offered it to the general of our column for him to send to the common stock, but he sent back word that it was mine, right enough. So it's quite right, isn't it, Colonel Woodburn? Mayn't she accept it with a clear conscience?" "Certainly, except that it's much too costly a present to accept, Ted." "It is indeed, old boy. I'm very, very grateful, and it's very generous of you, but you must keep it. You'd be sorry in a year or two, and you'd blame me for taking it." Ted began to grow angry. "If you won't take it, Ethel," he sullenly declared, "I'll throw it on the fire. I mean it." "But, Ted, you'll be married some day, and think how you would like your wife to have this--and she _ought_ to have it. Then you would think it mean of me to have taken it." He laughed scornfully. "Marry? Me? I'm not going to get married! I don't want anyone to have it but you; I meant it for you as soon as I saw it." A way of escape occurred to the girl. "Let us strike a bargain, old boy. If I accept it now, will you allow me to present it to your wife on the day you get married?" Again Ted laughed, this time with light heart.