Roy drew one hasty breath. Till that moment he had not realised how heavily the fear had weighed upon him of other than imprisonment. To be aware that Jack was still in the land of the living meant much. “Two French prisoners brought in this afternoon have told us about him. His leg was wounded and his right arm broken, and when helpless he was taken. Already, they say, he has been sent some distance beyond their lines.” “Thank you, sir!”—gratefully. “I’m glad to know. It might have been worse.” “You are writing home, perhaps. Make light of his wounds. I hope he is not in any danger.” “Yes, sir. I am writing to my sister.” Moore stood for a few seconds, lost in deep thought. Then, glancing up, he met the concerned gaze of Roy’s frank grey eyes. Not frank only, not concerned only, but full of unmistakable boyish adoration. In response, Moore’s hand was laid on Roy’s arm, with one of those quick gestures of overflowing kindness, which went far to enthral the hearts of those about him. “I hear no report of you but what is good. Keep on as you have begun. You are treading worthily in Ivor’s steps.” Roy’s power of speech failed him, with something which went far beyond ordinary joy. This—from Moore himself! Despite Jack’s misfortunes, Roy’s world grew instantly radiant. Moore smiled again at the boy’s look, yet he sighed. There were some in his force, and not young fellows only, of whom he could not have spoken in such terms—some who gave the rein to bitter discontent at having to retreat, and who did not do their utmost to preserve discipline. But they were not in the Reserve. “We may hear of Keene again before long. Give your letter to Napier, and it shall go with the first despatches that are sent on.” Then he was gone. Roy, after seeing him off, drew out the latest page of his scribbled journal-notes, that he might write down those priceless words, while they were fresh in his mind. Not that he ever would or ever could forget them. But some day he would show them to his father and mother—to Denham—to Molly. Having thus turned anew to his journalising, he found time for two more brief entries during days following. “Jan. 8. Near Lugo. “Nothing further as to Jack. I fear that for a while I shall see and know no more of him. I wonder much where he may be sent. Both yesterday and to-day General Moore has challenged the French to battle; but they do not accept his challenge. “Jan. 10. Betanzos. “We came hither by a night-march from Lugo, thus evading the French, who w^d seem to have been somewhat awed by Sir John’s fearless defiance of ’em at Lugo. For some hours our rear-guard was not Harassed as usual, and the Enemy’s advanced guard did not get up with us till twenty-four hours or more after our start. Since we left our camp-fires burning, they doubtless did not know till dawn that we had given them the slip. It may be too that, after that defiance, they were in no vast hurry to follow.”