jill stepped forward, tossing her head, as though to imply that there had never been any doubt about her welcome, and jack followed closely behind, while the servant led the way down two long passages running at right angles to each other, and threw open a door at the end, announcing the visitors’ names in stentorian tones.

a strong whiff of cigar smoke filled the air, and there sat the general on a crimson velvet arm-chair, which was hardly redder than his own complexion. his protruding eyes looked as glassy as ever, and his grey locks were ruffled at the top until he bore a ludicrous likeness to a paroquet. he held the crumpled card in his hand, and greeted his visitors with a chuckle of amusement.

“well, sir. well, ma’am—‘kind enquiries,’ eh? come to see how the poor old man is faring after his fall?”

“yes! we wanted to know. we thought it would be polite, as we were the un—er—unwitting causers of your accident.”

jill brought out the right word with fine effect, whereupon the general made great play with his outstanding tufts of eyebrow, pretending to frown, and look ferocious.

“un—witting, indeed! if that is your idea of unwitting, i should like to know how you would define deliberate intent! i’ll forgive you this time, but let me catch you at any of your tricks again, and the fat will be in the fire! sit down—sit down. it’s not often an old bachelor like myself has the honour of entertaining a young lady visitor. no man has had better friends, or more of them, than terence digby, but there are precious few remaining nowadays. i’ve left them behind me in many a lonely grave, without a stick or stone to show the resting-place of some of the bravest fellows the world has ever known. it’s lonely work to outlive one’s best friends.”

“have you been in many wars, sir?” asked jack, quick to scent a story of adventure. he dropped his hat on the floor and wriggled back in his chair, the rebellious locks of hair which his sisters christened “cetewayo,” after the zulu chief, sticking up rampantly at the back of his head. “have you been in any real, proper wars?”

“i should think i have, sir. many wars, and tough and serious wars at that, though a whipper-snapper like you would not know their names, and the english newspapers sandwich the news of them in a corner—with a small headline of ‘border war.’ it’s the border wars which keep the empire together, let me tell you, sir—the border wars which entail the most self-sacrificing and thankless work. there’s no honour and glory about them. the people you are fighting for don’t even take the trouble to find out where you are, or what the trouble is about. not that there ought to be any hardship about that to the true soldier. he fights for his king! that is enough for him!”

a curious softening of expression came over the fierce old face as he spoke the last sentence. the young people both noticed it, and dimly suspected a deeper meaning to the words, but they were in no mood for moralising.

“i should prefer the honour and glory,” jill declared boldly. “i’d hate to be sent to fight savages in pokey out-of-the-way places where nobody was watching and saying, ‘england expects!’ i could be most terrifically brave, if i knew it would be in the papers in the morning, and i should be a hero when i got home; but i’d be scared to death up among great lonely mountains with the feeling that nobody cared. were you ever frightened, general digby?”

“soldiers are never frightened. you are only a girl,” interrupted jack indignantly, but his host did not agree with his conclusions.

“she may be a girl, but she knows what she is talking about. she understands, because she is a girl, perhaps. women have that faculty born in them. banners and flags, and bands playing patriotic airs, and the feeling that the world is watching, have an inspiring effect on the most timid of men. who told you that a soldier was never afraid, young sir? whoever it was did not know what he was talking about. yes, i have been afraid, deadly afraid, many times over, and no man dared to call terence digby a coward. to camp with a handful of men among the great lonely mountains, as your sister so aptly puts it, never knowing when or how the attack may fall—an attack of devils rather than men; to know that if you are taken torture will be your portion, not death,—there is nothing to dread in dying for one’s country,—that shakes the nerves of the strongest man! i hear people talking about modern warfare, and saying it is the hardest trial of bravery to fight an unseen foe three or four miles away. well, well! i wonder if they have ever seen a rush of one of those warlike hill-tribes, and stood waiting to receive it as i have had to do times and again!”

“did you kill lots of men—yourself? how many have you killed?” jack inquired eagerly, but the general refused to be specific.

“i prefer not to think. it’s not a pleasant recollection. when the world is a little older, let us hope we shall find some better way of settling a quarrel than seeing who can kill off the most men. what are you going to be when you are a man, mr jack? going in for a profession?”

jack’s face fell. for personal questions, especially questions referring to his studies, he had a strong distaste. he wriggled on his chair, and mumbled between his lips—

“trying for a scholarship. half fees for the next three years. if i get it father will send me on to cambridge. he wants me to be a doctor, and help him in the practice when he gets old.”

“and you?”

jack shrugged his shoulders.

“i’d like to be a surgeon. it would be fine patching people up, setting their bones, and trying things no one had dared to do before; but i couldn’t stand driving round every day to look after their wretched colds, and vaccinate the babies. i’d like to be an army doctor best of all.”

“humph! would you! much you know about it. i fancy you’d soon be thankful to take on the babies in exchange. well, i’ve only one piece of advice to give you, my boy: never be persuaded to take up a career into which you cannot throw your whole heart and soul. you are responsible for your life’s work, and will have to account for it some day. don’t make things harder by drifting into uncongenial surroundings. you look to me like a young fellow who might drift. too easy-going by half!”

jack flushed uncomfortably. he hated being criticised, especially when the criticism was true, as conscience proclaimed the present indictment to be. there came to him every now and then moments of illumination, when, as if a flashlight was suddenly played over the future, he realised that he would soon be a man, with a man’s duties and responsibilities to himself and to others, and that these years of preparation were his training-ground for the fight, concerning the spending of which he would either rejoice or sorrow all his life long. at such moments the blood tingled in his veins, and he felt strong to do all things, and deny himself all things, if only the goal could be reached; but the vision soon faded, and he relapsed once more into careless, happy-go-lucky ways, caring more for a “lark” than for any solid gain, present or to come.

the old man stared at the boy for a moment,—seemed as if about to add something to his denunciation, but changed his mind, and addressed jill instead.

“and you, missy? girls have professions nowadays as well as their brothers. have you any special vocation in view?”

jill shook her pretty shaggy head.

“oh no, i’m just going to be a plain lady!” whereat the general threw himself back in his chair with a stentorian laugh.

“no, that you never will! that is, fortunately, out of your own hands. you will have to make another choice, my dear.”

jill showed her white teeth in a smile, wholly unembarrassed by the compliment.

“i mean, i shall get married as soon as i leave school. i should hate to have to make money for myself. i’ll marry a rich man with lots of dogs and horses, and then i can enjoy myself without any bother.”

the general drew his eyebrows together and stared scrutinisingly at the girlish figure seated on the high-backed oak chair. flowing locks, short petticoats, heavy boots, woollen gloves—just a bit of a schoolgirl in the hobbledehoy stage in which feminine instincts seem dormant—and the ambitions are more those of a boy than a girl. but jill was going to be a woman some day, and a fascinating woman into the bargain, with all the power for good or evil over the lives of others which such fascination brings. the general shook his head in warning fashion.

“don’t say that, my girl. never say or think a thing like that again! you are only a child, but you’ll grow up. it’s wonderful how quickly you young things spring up. you’ll be a woman before you can say, ‘jack robinson!’ and there’s no worse sin a woman can commit than to look upon marriage as a mere profession, an easy way of securing board and lodging. it’s not only ruining her own life—it’s ten times worse—for it ruins another into the bargain. when i was a young fellow i asked a girl to marry me—the only girl i ever did ask—and she wouldn’t look at me. she was a poor girl, and i had lots of money, but she was honest with me all the same, and i’ve been grateful to her all my life. i’ve been a lonely old fellow, but it would have been a thousand times worse to have had a wife who did not love me! you put it out of your head, little girl, that you are going to sell yourself for all the horses and dogs in creation.”

“um—” said jill vaguely.

she had scented a love—story, and with the inherent curiosity of her sex was dying to hear more about it.

“and what became of the girl? did she marry—someone else?”

“which girl? oh—i suppose so! i went out to india and lost sight of her. i did not want to see her again. i hope she settled down with a good fellow who could take care of her. hullo, what’s this?”

the man-servant had entered the room with a tray, which he proceeded to place on a table by jill’s side. it contained the usual paraphernalia for afternoon tea, but it appeared that the general did not as a rule indulge in this meal, hence his astonishment at its appearance.

“thought the young lady would like some, eh? quite right—quite right. you keep me up to my duties as usual! johnson has been with me for the last thirty years!” he explained to his guests. “we fought together in the east, and i should get on badly without him nowadays. now, my dear, help yourself. you are the lady of the party, so you must preside.”

jill pulled off her gloves, gave a surreptitious lick to an ink-stain on the second finger of her right hand, rubbed it dry on the side of her dress, and proceeded to do the honours with equal self-possession and enjoyment. if betty could see her now! a real general with a man-servant to wait upon him! it was a hundred times more important and exciting than mrs vanburgh and her governesses!

“have you got any medals—victoria crosses and things?” she asked, with a view to adding point to her account of the interview, and the general gave a loud guffaw of amusement.

“a selection of victoria crosses! eh, what? no, i am sorry to say i have not; only one or two medals, such as any man might possess who has served the same number of years. where are they? in a drawer in my bedroom, of course! you don’t expect me to hang them up on the wall, do you?”

“yes, i do. i should! where everyone would see and ask questions about them. i’d wear them, too, whenever i possibly could!” cried jill, unabashed, and once more the general shook his head and exclaimed—

“woman, woman!” in a tone of tragic significance.

when the meal was over, however, he yielded to jack’s entreaties, and escorted his visitors into the adjoining bedroom, where various warlike trophies reposed with the medals in the drawers of an old cabinet. the boy’s interest was intense, but jill soon wearied and turned to inspect the general furnishing of the room. it was very bare and plain—a narrow camp bed, a few chairs, and a dressing-table—bare of everything but the absolute necessities of toilet, and those of the simplest description. one saw the old soldier in every arrangement, but it was on the opposite corner of the room that jill’s eyes rested with the greatest astonishment.

on the wall hung a picture which she did not remember having seen before, representing a group of eastern beggars, and in the foreground the figure of christ with a beautiful, earnest face—a young face, not the worn and haggard representation so often seen—talking to one whose handsome robes showed him to be a person of position, who stood with hanging head and pained, disappointed expression. beneath the picture stood a kneeling-chair with a pile of devotional books on the ledge. the whole effect was that of a quiet corner or “closet,” as the apostle calls it, and jill was still staring at it with distended eyes when the general turned round and discovered her.

“you appear to be astonished by the sight of my corner! why?” he inquired, and a more observant listener might have discovered a certain tension and anxiety in his tone, but jill noticed nothing, and answered with the brutal candour of youth—

“i—i did not think you were—like that!”

“ah! why not? because i lost my temper, and railed at you the other day. eh, what?”

jack and jill gave a simultaneous exclamation of denial, for there had been a note of real pain and shame in the old man’s voice which was quick to reach their hearts. in truth, they had thought no less of the general for his expression of temper. it was only what was to be expected under the circumstances, and he had been a brick in defending them from their father’s anger. it was difficult to explain the real reason of their surprise at the discovery of his christianity. one could not say, for instance, “because your face is so red, and your eyes are so fierce, and your voice is so loud, and your manner of conversation so abrupt and startling; because you have been a slayer of men, and have lived a life of storm and adventure,” yet it was in truth the contrast to the pale, anaemic type which young people instinctively picture in a devotee which caused the astonishment in their minds. they remained silent, hanging their heads, while the general continued sadly—

“well, well, i don’t wonder! that tongue of mine has dishonoured me a hundred times before now, but, bad specimen as i am, i should be a hundred times worse but for the time spent in that corner. have you seen that picture before?”

jill shook her head.

“no, it is not half so well-known as it deserves to be! ‘christ and the young ruler,’ who went away sorrowful ‘because he had great possessions.’ it has never entered your head, i suppose, to pray to be preserved from prosperity, or in prosperity, if you like that better? of course not! precious few people ever do, yet the temptations of prosperity are fifty times more subtle, if they are less pressing, than those of poverty. i tell you, sir, when a man is young and strong, and feels the blood coursing in his veins, and when his balance at the banker’s allows him to do pretty well as he chooses, it is precious difficult to realise that he needs any help, human or divine. even now—selfish old beggar that i am!—i have no one’s convenience but my own to consider, and if i want a thing there’s no end of a fuss if i don’t get it in the twinkling of an eye. so i keep that picture there to remind me that my money is only lent to me to use for the good of others. christ, the captain! i am here to obey his orders!”

as he spoke he lifted his hand to his brow in stiff military salute, and over the fierce old face came the same wonderful softening which the twins had noticed a few minutes before.

they were speechless with embarrassment, as young things often are when a conversation suddenly takes a serious turn; but when they had taken their leave, with many invitations to repeat their visit, the same thought lingered in the mind of each as they made their way homeward.

“fancy him turning out so—good!” cried jill wonderingly. “he really almost—preached. i was surprised!”

“humph!” returned jack vaguely, for the figure of the old soldier saluting his captain had made too deep an impression on his heart to be lightly discussed. “christ, the captain!” the idea appealed to his boyish instincts, and awoke a new ambition. hitherto he had looked upon religion as a thing apart from his own life, the monopoly of women and clergymen, whose business it was; now for the first time it appealed to him as a fine and manly virtue.

sitting by his lonely fireside, general digby reproached himself for his lack of influence on his new friends. he would have been a happy man if he had known that by god’s grace he had that afternoon planted a seed for god in jack trevor’s careless heart. “christ, the captain!” to the last day of the boy’s life he never forgot those words, nor the picture of the old soldier with his hand raised to the salute.