“I wanted to tell you, Jack, what a great joy it has been to me—­it has been to all of us—­to have you in our home at this trying time.  I can not tell you how much comfort it has been to me now, but some time you shall know,” Vincent stammered, and began to open a drawer in the bureau.  “Here is something I want you to accept as a keepsake from me.”  He drew forth a pistol-case and opened it.  “It will be a melancholy pleasure for me to feel, in the dark days to come, that these weapons may prove your friend in battle, where I must be your enemy.”

“By George, they’re beauties!” Jack cried, taking the weapons out.

“Yes; they were bought last year, and I have had J.S. cut on one, and V.A. on the other.  I meant them for your Christmas last year, but they were mislaid.”

“What a kind fellow you are, Vint!  I don’t think I ought to take these.”

“Why not?  I have others!  I shall feel easier, knowing that you have them.  You can stow them about you easily, they are so small.”

“But it’s against the laws of war for a prisoner to be armed.”

“That’s just the reason I haven’t asked you to take them before.  You can leave them here in my room until you are exchanged, and then you can carry them with impunity.”

The household assembled at the gate leading into the roadway as the cavalcade took up the march.  There were sad, sobbing farewells spoken—­the kindly night covering the tears, and the loud neighing of the horses drowning the sobs.

The Northern group remained in the roadway, straining their eyes to catch the last glimpse of the wanderers as they disappeared in the misty foliage, far up the roadway.

The horizon to the zenith was full of shimmering star-points, Olympia, with Jack, turned slowly toward the house, silent and not wholly sad.  Dick, in a low treble, could be heard just behind them, quoting melancholy verses to Rosa; and the brother and sister returned slowly up the dewy, odorous path.  At the porch Rosa exclaimed, in surprise: 

“I wonder where Pizarro is?  I haven’t seen him while we have been out.  It can’t be possible he has followed Vincent!  What shall we do if he has?”

“Make Dick take his place.  A terrier is sometimes as faithful as a mastiff,” Jack said, quickly.

“Oh!  Miss Atterbury wants something with a bite, rather than a bark, and a terrier wouldn’t do,” the boy answered.

“I want Pizarro.  I shall never sleep a wink all night if he isn’t here,” Rosa said, in consternation; “he is better than a regiment of soldiers, for he won’t let a human being come near the house after the doors are closed, not even the servants.”

An expedition, calling upon Pizarro in many keys, set out and wandered through the grounds, back to the quarters, to the gates leading to the rose-fields, to the stable, but Pizarro was not to be found.  Lights were burning in the hall only when the four re-entered, and with a very grave face Rosa bade the rest good-night.