I did not tell you when we met out there, because I was afraid I should never find it, and because I wanted to keep quiet about it." Guy Oscard was looking out of the window across to the dull houses and chimneys that formed his horizon, and in his eyes there was the longing for a vaster horizon, a larger life.
"I have got a partner," continued Durnovo, "a good man--Jack Meredith, son of Sir John Meredith.

You have, perhaps, met him." "No," answered Oscard; "but I have heard his name, and I have met Sir John--the father--once or twice." "He is out there," went on Durnovo, "getting things together quietly.

I have come home to buy rifles, ammunition, and stores." He paused, watching the eager, simple face.
"We want to know," he said quietly, "if you will organise and lead the fighting men." Guy Oscard drew a deep breath.

There are some Englishmen left, thank Heaven! who love fighting for its own sake, and not only for the gain of it.

Such men as this lived in the old days of chivalry, at which modern puny carpet-knights make bold to laugh, while inwardly thanking their stars that they live in the peaceful age of the policeman.