“Yon are Mr. John Armitage, sir.  A man’s name is what he says it is.  It is the rule of the country.”

“Thank you, Oscar.  Your words reassure me.  There have been times lately when I have been in doubt myself.  You are a pretty good doctor.”

“First aid to the injured; I learned the trick from a hospital steward.  If you are not poisoned, and do not die, you will recover—­yes?”

“Thank you, Sergeant.  You are a consoling spirit; but I assure you on my honor as a gentleman that if I die I shall certainly haunt you.  This is the fourth day.  To-morrow I shall throw away the bandage and be quite ready for more trouble.”

“It would be better on the fifth—­”

“The matter is settled.  You will now go for the mail; and do take care that no one pots you on the way.  Your death would be a positive loss to me, Oscar.  And if any one asks how My Majesty is—­mark, My Majesty—­pray say that I am quite well and equal to ruling over many kingdoms.”

“Yes, sire.”

And Armitage roared with laughter, as the little man, pausing as he buckled a cartridge belt under his coat, bowed with a fine mockery of reverence.

“If a man were king he could have a devilish fine time of it, Oscar.”

“He could review many troops and they would fire salutes until the powder cost much money.”

“You are mighty right, as we say in Montana; and I’ll tell you quite confidentially, Sergeant, that if I were out of work and money and needed a job the thought of being king might tempt me.  These gentlemen who are trying to stick knives into me think highly of my chances.  They may force me into the business—­” and Armitage rose and kicked the flaring knot.

Oscar drew on his gauntlet with a jerk.

“They killed the great prime minister—­yes?”

“They undoubtedly did, Oscar.”

“He was a good man—­he was a very great man,” said Oscar slowly, and went quickly out and closed the door softly after him.

The life of the two men in the bungalow was established in a definite routine.  Oscar was drilled in habits of observation and attention and he realized without being told that some serious business was afoot; he knew that Armitage’s life had been attempted, and that the receipt and despatch of telegrams was a part of whatever errand had brought his master to the Virginia hills.  His occupations were wholly to his liking; there was simple food to eat; there were horses to tend; and his errands abroad were of the nature of scouting and in keeping with one’s dignity who had been a soldier.  He rose often at night to look abroad, and sometimes he found Armitage walking the veranda or returning from a tramp through the wood.  Armitage spent much time studying papers; and once, the day after Armitage submitted his wounded arm to Oscar’s care, he had seemed upon the verge of a confidence.

“To save life; to prevent disaster; to do a little good in the world—­to do something for Austria—­such things are to the soul’s credit, Oscar,” and then Armitage’s mood changed and he had begun chaffing in a fashion that was beyond Oscar’s comprehension.