"Come," he said. "I want an officer for special service. He shall be posted to my staff, and his special work will be to gather an escort of the natives of Portugal or of Spain about him. He will seek for information as to the movements of the enemy. He will make sudden raids where necessary, and if occasion suggests it he shall even enter the camps of the French and gather full tidings. It is a dangerous task. It may mean wounds or death. The danger of imprisonment is very great. Also, if the duties be carried out with discretion and boldness, it means honour and promotion. Mr. Clifford, I am happy to offer you a commission as an ensign, unattached at present, to date from the day when you were taken by the French. My next dispatch home shall make mention of your name and of my wishes. To-morrow evening general orders shall confirm this offer, while the following evening shall see you promoted to lieutenant for this recent action. Afterwards you will carry out the instructions which shall be handed to you. Will you accept?" Would he accept! Would Tom take the very thing for which he had longed, and become one of the king's officers! He jumped at the offer. His delight robbed him of the power of speech, so that he could only mumble his thanks. He retired, in fact, from the presence of the famous general with his head and brain in a whirl. "Hearty congratulations," cried Lieutenant Riley, smacking him on the back as soon as they reached their own quarters. "We'll tell Jack now. Pity the pain in his leg sent him away from the general's before this happened. Ha! we've news, Jack." The ensign had retired early from the dinner, the excitement and movement of the last two days having set up inflammation in his wound, though in the case of the naval officer it seemed to have actually done his injury good. Jack lay on a camp bed provided by the surgeon, blinking in the light of a candle. "Eh?" he asked, glancing sleepily at them. "Look out for squalls, my boy." "Why? Don't understand, sir." "You soon will," laughed Mr. Riley. "Tom's an awful martinet, and he's your senior." It was all true enough, though our hero found difficulty in understanding the matter. For the very next evening found an announcement in General Orders. There was a short, flattering reference to Lieutenant Riley and Jack. And then the following words: "The commander-in-chief has pleasure in recommending that Mr. Clifford be granted a commission in His Majesty's forces, for his action when in temporary command of the French troopers attacked by Portuguese peasants. Ensign Clifford is posted to the headquarters staff." The following evening found a second announcement. "Ensign Clifford, headquarters staff, is recommended for promotion for gallantry in a recent action." "My uncle!" exclaimed Jack, when he read the orders, "you'll be a full-blown general, Tom, before I'm a captain. Don't forget me, that's all. I'd look awfully fine in the uniform of a staff officer."