“It is because they know he is a patriot, and patriots are respected,” the boy had told himself.

He himself wished to be a patriot, though he had never seen his own country of Samavia.  He knew it well, however.  His father had talked to him about it ever since that day when he had made the promises.  He had taught him to know it by helping him to study curious detailed maps of it—­maps of its cities, maps of its mountains, maps of its roads.  He had told him stories of the wrongs done its people, of their sufferings and struggles for liberty, and, above all, of their unconquerable courage.  When they talked together of its history, Marco’s boy-blood burned and leaped in his veins, and he always knew, by the look in his father’s eyes, that his blood burned also.  His countrymen had been killed, they had been robbed, they had died by thousands of cruelties and starvation, but their souls had never been conquered, and, through all the years during which more powerful nations crushed and enslaved them, they never ceased to struggle to free themselves and stand unfettered as Samavians had stood centuries before.

“Why do we not live there,” Marco had cried on the day the promises were made.  “Why do we not go back and fight?  When I am a man, I will be a soldier and die for Samavia.”

“We are of those who must live for Samavia—­working day and night,” his father had answered; “denying ourselves, training our bodies and souls, using our brains, learning the things which are best to be done for our people and our country.  Even exiles may be Samavian soldiers—­I am one, you must be one.”

“Are we exiles?” asked Marco.

“Yes,” was the answer.  “But even if we never set foot on Samavian soil, we must give our lives to it.  I have given mine since I was sixteen.  I shall give it until I die.”

“Have you never lived there?” said Marco.

A strange look shot across his father’s face.

“No,” he answered, and said no more.  Marco watching him, knew he must not ask the question again.

The next words his father said were about the promises.  Marco was quite a little fellow at the time, but he understood the solemnity of them, and felt that he was being honored as if he were a man.

“When you are a man, you shall know all you wish to know,” Loristan said.  “Now you are a child, and your mind must not be burdened.  But you must do your part.  A child sometimes forgets that words may be dangerous.  You must promise never to forget this.  Wheresoever you are; if you have playmates, you must remember to be silent about many things.  You must not speak of what I do, or of the people who come to see me.  You must not mention the things in your life which make it different from the lives of other boys.  You must keep in your mind that a secret exists which a chance foolish word might betray.  You are a Samavian, and there have been Samavians who have died a thousand deaths rather than betray a secret.  You must learn to obey without question, as if you were a soldier.  Now you must take your oath of allegiance.”