barbarous inlands of
Morocco the husband had had his daily portion of the bastinado and
the whip. It was her fault, too, and she made her profit of it. Wyley
became sensible of an overwhelming irony in the disposition of the
world.

"You spoke a true word to-night, Major," he said bitterly. "That light
down there might turn any man to a moralist, and send him preaching in
the market-places."

"Well," returned the Major, as though he must make what defence he
could for Scrope, "the story is not the politest in the world. But,
then, you know Tangier--it is only a tiny outpost on the edges of the
world where we starve behind broken walls forgotten of our friends. We
have the Moors ever swarming at our gates and the wolf ever snarling
at our heels, and so the niceties of conduct are lost. We have so
little time wherein to live, and that little time is filled with the
noise of battle. Passion has its way with us in the end, and honour
comes to mean no more than bravery and a gallant death."

He remained a few moments silent, and then disconnectedly he told
Wyley the rest of the story.

"It was only three years ago that Knightley came to Tangier. He should
never have brought his wife with him. Scrope and Knightley became
friends. All Tangier knew the truth pretty soon, and laughed at
Knightley's ignorance.... I remember the night of January 6th very
well. I was Captain of the Guard that night too. A spy brought in news
that we might expect a night attack. I sent Knightley with the news to
Lord Inchiquin. On the way back he stepped into his own house. It was
late at night. Mrs. Knightley was singing some foolish song to Scrope.
The two men came down into the street and fought then and there. The
quarter was aroused, the combatants arrested and brought to me....
There are two faults which our necessities here compel us to punish
beyond their proper gravity: duelling, for we cannot afford to lose
officers that way; and brawling in the streets at night, because the
Moors lie _perdus_ under our walls; ready to take occasion as it
comes. Of Scrope's punishment you have heard. Knightley I released for
that night. He was on guard--I could not spare him. We were attacked
in the morning, and repulsed the attack. We followed up our success by
a sortie in which Knightley fell."

Wyley began again to wonder at what particular point in this story
Knightley's recollection broke off; and, further, what particular fear
it was that kep