In the midst of this trouble a most unexpected blow fell upon Ivor, in the shape of a stern official notice, desiring him to consider himself a prisoner of war, and at once to render his parole. Ivor was a calm-mannered man generally, with the composure which means only the determined holding-down of a far from placid nature, but some fierce and angry words broke from him that day. He was compelled to go out to give his parole, infection or no infection, leaving the old woman in charge for as brief a space as might be; and indignant utterances were exchanged between himself and Colonel Baron, whom he chanced to meet, bent on the same errand. Then he had to hasten back to the boy, with a heavy weight at his heart. It meant to Ivor, not only indefinite separation from Polly, but also a complete deadlock in his military career. He was passionately in love with her; he was hardly less passionately in love with his profession. Had imprisonment come in the ordinary way, through reverse or capture in actual warfare, he would have borne it more easily; but the sense of injustice rankled here. Also at once he foresaw the complications likely to arise, and the probability that an exchange of prisoners would be impossible. As he patiently tended the boy, doing all that he could to bring relief, his brain went round at the thought of his position, and that of Colonel Baron. (_To be continued._) ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE. BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of "A Girl in Springtime," "Sisters Three," etc. CHAPTER IV. For four long days had Mariquita Saville dwelt beneath Mr. Asplin's roof, and her companions still gazed upon her with fear and trembling, as a mysterious and extraordinary creature, whom they altogether failed to understand. She talked like a book, she behaved like a well-conducted old lady of seventy, and she sat with folded hands gazing around, with a curious, dancing light in her hazel eyes, which seemed to imply that there was some tremendous joke on hand, the secret of which was known only to herself. Esther and Mellicent had confided their impressions to their mother, but in Mrs. Asplin's presence, Peggy was just a quiet, modest girl, a trifle shy and retiring, as was natural under the circumstances, but with no marked peculiarity of any kind. She answered to the name of "Peggy," to which address she was persistently deaf at other times, and sat with eyelids lowered, and neat little feet crossed before her, the picture of a demure, well-behaved, young schoolgirl. The sisters assured their mother that Mariquita was a very different person in the schoolroom, but when she inquired as to the nature of the difference, it was not so easy to explain. "She talked so grandly, and used such great, big words."