Colonel Sterling was a fine looking man. His white hair, flowing
beard, and commanding presence would have distinguished him in any
company. His face was genial, and his grey eyes shone with pleasure
and pride as they rested upon his daughter who now turned to meet him.

"Is supper ready, dear?" he enquired, "I am hungry, and I know the
Major is, too."

"There is the supper," and Jean pointed to the dish of waffles. "But
I'm afraid it's not much for two hungry men. The Major, I am sure,
will find it pretty poor fare."

"Not at all, Miss Jean," the officer smilingly assured her. "I recall
so well the choice waffles I had at your old home in Stamford the last
time I visited there. And I am confident, too, that your excellent
cook has lost none of her skill since then."

He looked toward Mammy as he spoke, causing the faithful servant almost
to drop the iron she was holding, so great was her confusion at such a
compliment from so great a person.

Major Gilfred Studholme was the right man in the right place at this
critical time in the history of Portland Point. He had served with
distinction on behalf of his King in numerous engagements, and his
heart went out in sympathy to the thousands of refugees so suddenly
thrust upon him for protection. This soldier had held his post secure
in the face of hostile savages and lawless marauders, and he was
equally faithful now in the discharge of his duties to the newcomers.

Leaving Mammy to recover from her embarrassment and to continue her