“That is excessive gracious of him, truly. You are more fortunate than many. Roy Baron was not so well off, and he had to make his escape. But he has been since in the Campaign in Portugal and Spain under our great Commander, Sir John Moore. A truly melancholy story that, sir,—yet he died as a soldier would choose to die, covered with glory. And Roy—Mr. Baron, I should say—is now back with us for a little space; and we, his friends, fondly think he has done well. But will you allow me to offer you cake and wine? You have a very tired look. What can Drake be about not to bring the lights?” Mrs. Bryce’s hand was on the bell. Denham was gazing earnestly towards Polly, so earnestly that she could not but return the gaze. A thrill ran through her, for there was no mistaking that voice. Molly took upon herself to put a pointed question: “Have you come from Verdun, sir, if I might ask?” “Pray take a seat, sir,” Mrs. Bryce was reiterating. She might as well have spoken to stone walls. “I am straight from Verdun,” Ivor replied to Molly’s query. “As I am fain to think Miss Keene has already divined.” Polly dropped a curtsey and said nothing. It was not for her to make any first move. Nobody could hear how her heart fluttered. “Then, sir, doubtless you will bring messages for us all from the unfortunate prisoners there detained,” said Mrs. Bryce, not yet grasping his identity with one of those prisoners. Drake at this moment carried in the lights, and Roy, entering with him, cried out in astonishment. “Den! Why, ’tis Den himself! Can it be in very truth? Den, dear fellow!”—nearly wringing Ivor’s hands off with the energy of his welcome. Pre-occupied though Ivor was with Polly, his gaze rested with satisfaction upon “his friend Roy.” The boy who had left Verdun for the dungeons of Bitche was a man now, broad-shouldered, well-built and soldier-like, frank as ever in manner, yet with a certain something in the young face, which told not only of endurance, but of the touch of sorrow. At the present moment, however, Roy’s look was all sunshine. “I _am_ glad, Den, more glad than words can say. Little I dreamt who I should find in here! And you’re free! But how is it? How has that come about? You don’t say old Boney has let you off! Of his own free will? I wouldn’t have given the old chap credit for so much generosity. What made him do such a thing? Lucille? No! Bravo, Lucille!” Nobody else had a chance of being heard. Mrs. Bryce exclaimed and talked in vain. Polly and Molly waited. Roy’s eager questions had to be answered, before Denham was allowed to turn elsewhere. Then came a change of manner and a lowering of voice.