cooking, Jean went into the little shack, the only home she now knew,
and brought forth a small table. This she placed near the door,
covered it with a white cloth, and again went inside for dishes. Her
supply of the latter was most meagre, as the rest had not been
unpacked. Her eyes grew a little misty as she recalled what the Major
had said about the last time he had been with them in their old home in
Stamford. She had a clear remembrance of that day, of the
neatly-arranged table, with fresh flowers in the centre, and the light
of pleasure and contentment upon her dear mother's face. What changes
had taken place since then! Her mother had been laid to rest, the old
home was gone, and they were exiles in a strange cruel land.

Hastily wiping her eyes with a delicately-embroidered handkerchief, she
collected a few dishes, and had just reached the door when she suddenly
stopped. Standing before the Major she saw a young man, clad in the
most peculiar manner she had ever seen. But his face and bearing were
what chiefly attracted her, while a pleasurable sensation, such as she
had never before experienced, swept through her being.

"I am Dane Norwood," the young man was saying, "and I bring a message
from William Davidson, the King's purveyor. Here it is," and he handed
forth a letter he had taken from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Are you in the King's service?" the Major asked as he took the missive.

"I am," was the reply. "I am a special courier, known as the 'King's
Arrow,' and I always go where I am sent. That is why I am here."

"Where are your manners, then?" the Major demanded with a twinkle in
his eyes.