determined to live through them, as far as he could, without a
murmur, although there was to be no pleasure in them. A diviner
heroism is this, but divinest of all, is that of him who can in these
days do what Zachariah did, and without Zachariah's faith.

The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife were sitting down to
tea, there was a tap at the door, and in walked Major Maitland. He
was now in full afternoon costume, and, if not dandyish, was
undeniably well dressed. Making a profound bow to Mrs. Coleman, he
advanced to the fireplace and instantly shook hands with Zachariah.

"Well, my republican, you are better, although the beery loyalist has
left his mark upon you."

"Certainly, much better; but where I should have been, sir, if it had
not been for you, I don't know."

"Ah, well; it was an absolute pleasure to me to teach the blackguard
that cheering a Bourbon costs something. My God, though, a man must
be a fool who has to be taught that! I wonder what it HAS cost us.
Why, I see you've got my friend, Major Cartwright, up there."

Zachariah and his wife started a moment at what they considered the
profane introduction of God's name; but it was not exactly swearing,
and Major Maitland's relationship to them was remarkable. They were
therefore silent.

"A true friend of the people," continued Maitland, "is Major
Cartwright; but he does not go quite far enough to please me."