The eyes looking Tom up and down so closely gleamed. Did they twinkle ever so little? Did this general, whose name was famous throughout many countries, guess at the martial spirit that filled Tom's breast? If he did, no one could do more than guess the fact, for the features never altered. The eyes merely twinkled, and that ever so little. "A pity," said the general. "You would have made a----" Flesh and blood could not endure such temptation. Here was the opportunity of his life, and Tom took it with open hands. "I'm meant for a stool in Oporto, sir," he said. "But I'd give a heap to earn a commission." "Come to dinner to-night," was the answer he received, while Wellington swung his horse round and rode on through the ranks of the French troopers. But he did not forget our hero, for that very evening, after dinner was over, and the remains of the somewhat frugal meal in which he was wont to indulge had been removed, Wellington called for candles with which to illuminate the headquarters tent, and then bade Mr. Riley tell the story of the adventure. Then he swung round on Tom and eyed him again in a manner that made the young man's heart sink to the depths of his boots. What wonder that the lad who had so bravely led the troopers should tremble under the gaze of Wellington. For this famous general was no ordinary man. The clean-shaven, sharply-cut features showed a determination that was extraordinary and which of itself attracted attention. His short, jerky sentences, however kindly meant, had a way of alarming his juniors, while the severity of his features, his exalted rank, the tremendous responsibilities resting on the shoulders of this man, made him almost awe inspiring. Tom had nothing to be ashamed of. Officers of senior rank out there in the Peninsula, and elsewhere, both before and after this historic conflict, trembled under the gaze of the brilliant tactician. Then why not Tom? But a smile crossing the face of the general reassured him. "So you were meant for a stool in Oporto and found yourself a prisoner," began the general, putting down the glass from which he had just taken a sip of wine, "and seem to have fallen naturally into the life of a soldier. Let me add, too, you have done wonderfully well. That I can gather even without the tale which Lieutenant Riley has given me. You have shown discretion and sharpness, sir. The army needs officers with discretion, and, I am proud to say, has them. She needs, too, officers who are linguists. More than all she wants officers able to speak one or more of the languages essential to this campaign, and who have in addition the capacity to command men. Mr. Clifford, my greatest difficulty in this campaign is that of obtaining reliable information. Will you help me?" Help a general! Help Wellington, the great duke who had defeated the French now on so many occasions! The bare suggestion made Tom flush. But the gallant officer addressing him was serious enough.