Sir John stood at the upper end of the room, talking with his friend Colonel Anderson—a strangely attractive figure, alike dignified and winning, with a brow of regal breadth and power, searching luminous eyes, through which at times the whole spirit of the man seemed to shine, and well-cut sensitive lips, gentle in expression as any woman’s, while yet they could close like adamant. The young Ensign’s heartbeat tumultuously, under a rush of new sensations, and a fervour of devotion for such a leader as this sprang at once into being. In that moment Roy knew why Denham Ivor so loved Sir John, and why men could with very gladness die for him. Moore, gazing in his earnest fashion upon the boy, smiled at the look he saw. It was no new thing for him to be conscious of his own almost magical control over the hearts of others. A few business-like questions were put, as to when Roy had joined his regiment, and the training he had since received. Presently Moore remarked— “So you escaped from Bitche, I am told?” “I was so fortunate, sir. With the help of a Frenchman.” “Ha! How was that?” “He was grateful, sir, to my father and wished to make a return. He had been taken in the Conscription some time before, and my father and Captain Ivor helped to pay for a substitute. It was for his old mother’s sake.” This was a note which could not fail to appeal to the most loyal of sons, and Moore’s face showed quick response, though he only said, “Détenus?” “Yes, sir. We were detained in 1803—my father and Captain Ivor. My mother stayed with them, and I could not get a passport. And later I was sent to Bitche.” “Not Denham Ivor of the Guards! I remember—he was among the détenus.” “Yes, sir. He was under you in the West Indies and in Egypt.” “Of course. I know him well. How came he to linger so long in France?” Roy explained briefly the small-pox complication, the General listening with still that intent gaze. “Then Ivor is at Verdun still. Hard upon him! As gallant a young fellow as I ever had to do with. I would give something to have him with me now.” Roy treasured up the words for Ivor’s future comfort. “Ivor feels it terribly, sir!” he said. “You have been much thrown with him!” “Yes, sir. He has been the best friend to me that I ever could have.” “I am glad to hear it. He is a friend worth having.” After a slight pause, the General remarked, “Napoleon made a blunder there for once. The absence of proper exchange falls at least as heavily upon the French as upon ourselves. By-the-by, you know Captain Keene also. He spoke to me of you.” “Yes, sir. We are connected.” “Well, Baron, I shall expect a good deal from a friend of Ivor!” “I will do my best, sir,” Roy answered. Then an interruption came, and Sir John smiled kindly again, as he turned away. Roy went out of the room, captivated, dazzled, wild to do or to dare aught in the world for the sake of Moore.[2] * * * * *