“I may lose Maurice.”
“Don’t think of such a thing. He is a true Roylands, and bears a charmed life; something to do with that amber heart, I suppose.”
“Did Maurice tell you, father?”
“No; some magical nonsense, I suppose. Well, well, come and give your poor father something to eat, for, war or no war, I must have supper.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
UNDER THE UNION JACK.
The cross of St. Andrew, the cross of St. George,
Are blent in the folds which are flung to the air,
And proud floats the flag at the head of the gorge,
Proclaiming the presence of Englishmen there.
Red tint for the blood which is shed for the brave,