In a few minutes they were enjoying their lunch, during which the conversation became very agreeable, and even animated.  Young Roberts had nothing of the military puppy about him whatsoever.  On the contrary, his deportment was modest, manly, and unassuming.  Sensible of his father’s humble, but yet respectable position, he neither attempted to swagger himself into importance by an affectation of superior breeding or contempt for his parent, nor did he manifest any of that sullen taciturnity which is frequently preserved, as a proof of superiority, or a mask for conscious ignorance and bad breeding; the fact being generally forgotten that it is an exponent of both.

“So, Edward, you like the army, then?” inquired Mr. Mainwaring.

“I do, sir,” replied young Roberts; “it’s a noble profession.”

“Eight, Ned—­a noble profession—­that’s the word,” said old Sam; “and so it is, my boy, and a brave and a generous one.”

Lucy Gourlay and the young soldier had occasionally glanced at each other; and it might have been observed, that whenever they did so, each seemed surprised, if not actually confused.

“Is it difficult, Edward,” asked Mainwaring, after they had taken wine together, “to purchase a commission at present?”

“It is not very easy to procure commissions just now,” replied the other; “but you know, Mr. Mainwaring, that I had the honor to be raised from the ranks.”

“Bravo, Ned!” exclaimed old Sam, slapping him him on the back; “I am glad to see that you take that honor in its true light.  Thousands may have money to buy a commission, but give me the man that has merit to deserve it; especially, Ned, at so young an age as yours.”

“You must have distinguished yourself, sir,” observed Lucy, “otherwise it is quite unusual, I think, to witness the promotion from the ranks of so young a man.”

“I only endeavored to do my duty, madam,” replied Roberts, bowing modestly, whilst something like a blush came over his cheeks.

“Never mind him, Miss Gourlay,” exclaimed Sam—­“never mind; he did distinguish himself, and on more than one occasion, too, and well deserved his promotion.  When one of the British flags was seized upon and borne off, after the brave fellow whose duty it was to defend it with his life had done so, and was cut down by three French soldiers, our gentleman here, for all so modest as he looks, pursued them, fought single-handed against the three, rescued the flag, and, on his way back, met the general, who chanced to be a spectator of the exploit; when passing near him, bleeding, for he had been smartly wounded, the general rides over to him.  ‘Is the officer who bore that flag killed?’ he asked.  ‘He is, general,’ replied Ned.—­’You have rescued it?’—­’I have, sir.’—­’What is your name?’—­He told him.—­’Have you received an education?’—­’A good education, general’—­’Very good,’ proceeded the general.  ’You have recovered the flag, you say?’—­’I considered it my duty either to die or to do so, general,’ replied Ned.—­’Well said, soldier,’ returned the general, ’and well done, too:  as for the flag itself, you must only keep it for your pains.  Your commission, young man, shall be made out.  I will take charge of that myself.’—­There, now, is the history of his promotion for you.”