They may force me into the business--" and Armitage rose and kicked the flaring knot.
Oscar drew on his gauntlet with a jerk.
"They killed the great prime minister--yes ?" "They undoubtedly did, Oscar." "He was a good man--he was a very great man," said Oscar slowly, and went quickly out and closed the door softly after him.
The life of the two men in the bungalow was established in a definite routine.

Oscar was drilled in habits of observation and attention and he realized without being told that some serious business was afoot; he knew that Armitage's life had been attempted, and that the receipt and despatch of telegrams was a part of whatever errand had brought his master to the Virginia hills.

His occupations were wholly to his liking; there was simple food to eat; there were horses to tend; and his errands abroad were of the nature of scouting and in keeping with one's dignity who had been a soldier.

He rose often at night to look abroad, and sometimes he found Armitage walking the veranda or returning from a tramp through the wood.

Armitage spent much time studying papers; and once, the day after Armitage submitted his wounded arm to Oscar's care, he had seemed upon the verge of a confidence.
"To save life; to prevent disaster; to do a little good in the world--to do something for Austria--such things are to the soul's credit, Oscar," and then Armitage's mood changed and he had begun chaffing in a fashion that was beyond Oscar's comprehension.
The little soldier rode over the hills to Lamar Station in the waning spring twilight, asked at the telegraph office for messages, stuffed Armitage's mail into his pockets at the post-office, and turned home as the moonlight poured down the slopes and flooded the valleys.