were completed. Then Willoughby had a moment for reflection; the
firing having entirely ceased, and nothing further remaining to do.

"We are safe for the present, Joyce," the major observed, as he and the
serjeant stood together on the staging, after having consulted on the
present aspect of things; "and I have a solemn duty, yet, to perform--
my dear mother--and the body of my father--"

"Yes, sir; I would not speak of either, so long as it was your honour's
pleasure to remain silent on the subject. Madam Willoughby is sorely
cut down, as you may imagine, sir; and, as for my gallant old
commander, he died in his harness, as a soldier should."

"Where have you taken the body?--has my mother seen it?"

"Lord bless you, sir, Madam Willoughby had his honour carried into her
own room, and there she and Miss Beulah"--so all of the Hut still
called the wife of Evert Beekman--"she and Miss Beulah, kneel, and
pray, and weep, as you know, sir, ladies will, whenever anything severe
comes over their feelings--God bless them both, we all say, and think,
ay, and pray, too, in our turns, sir."

"Very well, Joyce. Even a soldier may drop a tear over the dead body of
his own father. God only knows what this night will bring forth, and I
may never have a moment as favourable as this, for discharging so
solemn a duty."

"Yes, your honour"--Joyce fancied that the major had succeeded to this
appellation by the decease of the captain--"yes, your honour, the
commandments, that the Rev. Mr. Woods used to read to us of a Sunday,
tell us all about that; and it is quite as much the duty of a Christian
to mind the commandments, I do suppose, as it is for a soldier to obey
orders. God bless you, sir, and carry you safe through the affair. I
had a touch of it with Miss Maud, myself, and know what it is. It's bad
enough to lose an old commander in so sudden a way like, without having
to _feel_ what has happened in company with so sweet ladies, as
these we have in the house. As for these blackguards down inside the
works, let them give you no uneasiness; it will be light work for us to
keep them busy, compared to what your honour has to do."

It would seem by the saddened manner in which Willoughby moved away,
that he was of the same way of thinking as the serjeant, on this
melancholy subject. The moment, however, was favourable for the object,
and delay could not be afforded. Then Willoughby's disposition was to
console his mother, even whil