hope to fall in the press of the fight, and, to the loud funeral music
of clashing steel, find the death of a soldier. What is your name?"

"Desmond Ellerey."

"It is an easy name to remember. Well, Desmond Ellerey, if your ambition
finds no outlet in England, come to my country, to the city of
Sturatzberg, and claim friendship with Princess Maritza. She shall
find you work for your good right arm."

She walked away from him as though she had bestowed a great favor,
never looking back. She went in the opposite direction to the school,
her truant spirit not yet satisfied, and Ellerey watched her until he
lost sight of the tall, graceful figure in a fold of the downs. Then
he turned and went slowly back the way he had come.

Desmond Ellerey had declared that she had done him good. It was true.
Although he walked slowly, his spirit was stirred within him, and his
blood ran with something of its old vigor. Faced by a thousand
difficulties, this girl had the courage to look upon them bravely, and
to believe in her power to overcome them. That was her secret, the
belief in her own power. He had faced his difficulties bravely enough,
but he had not had the courage to hope; therein lay his weakness, and
this girl, this princess, had shown it to him. He had allowed himself
to drift into a backwater; it was time he pulled out into the stream
again, and fought his way back to his rightful place, inch by inch,
against whatever tide might run.

For some little time he had been staying with Sir Charles and Lady
Martin, two people who had looked into his eyes when he had denied the