ver they were,--to-night!'" The Sergeant stopped short,
and stared at Bellew wide-eyed.

"Why--sir," said he very slowly, "you don't mean to say you--think as
she--meant--that--?"

"But I do!" nodded Bellew. And now, just as suddenly as he had stopped,
the Sergeant turned, and went on again.

"Lord!" he whispered--"Lord! Lord!"

The moon was rising, and looking at the Sergeant, Bellew saw that there
was a wonderful light in his face, yet a light that was not of the moon.

"Sergeant," said Bellew, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "why don't you
speak to her?"

"Speak to her,--what me! No, no, Mr. Bellew!" said the Sergeant,
hastily. "No, no,--can't be done, sir,--not to be mentioned, or thought
of, sir!" The light was all gone out of his face, now, and he walked
with his chin on his breast.

"The surprising thing to me, Sergeant, is that you have never thought of
putting your fortune to the test, and--speaking your mind to her,
before now."

"Thought of it, sir!" repeated the Sergeant, bitterly, "thought of
it!--Lord, sir! I've thought of it--these five years--and more. I've
thought of it--day and night. I've thought of it so very much that I
know--I never can--speak my mind to her. Look at me!" he cried suddenly,
wheeling and confronting Bellew, but not at all like his bold, erect,
soldierly self,--"Yes, look at me,--a poor, battered, old soldier--with
his--best arm gone,--left behind him in India, and with nothing in the
world but his old uniform,--getting very frayed and worn,--like himself,
sir,--a pair o' jack boots, likewise very much worn, though wonderfully
patched, here and there, by my good comrade, Peterday,--a handful of
medals, and a very modest pension. Look at me, with the best o' my days
behind me, and wi' only one arm left--and I'm a deal more awkward and
helpless with that one arm than you'd think, sir,--look at me, and then
tell me how could such a man dare to speak his mind to--such a woman.
What right has--such a man to even think of speaking his mind to--such a
woman, when there's part o' that man already in the grave? Why, no
right, sir,--none in the world. Poverty, and one arm, are facts as make
it impossible for that man to--ever speak his mind. And, sir--that
man--never will. Sir,--good night to you!--and a pleasant walk!--I turn
back here."

Which the Sergeant did, then and there, wheeling sharp right about face;
yet, as Bellew watched him go, he noticed that the soldier's step was