because his hair was
gray--pace, with his quick, quarter-deck step the little path that
divided the flower-beds. It was a neat though very small dwelling,
almost shut from view by lilacs and evergreens; the garden was gay with
sweet flowers, which might almost be called _domestic_ in this age of
new buds and blossoms; and it was carefully tended by a young girl--his
only daughter--and an old female servant. We noticed every morning that
the lieutenant, who was a tall figure, and would have been a handsome
and commanding-looking man but for his very great paleness and his
stooping, walked briskly to the gate, and holding himself a little more
erect than usual, glanced first at the vane, noticing with a sailor's
instinct the quarter in which the wind sat; and then turning, gazed
anxiously up the village in the direction of the postman's approach,
till that functionary appeared in sight. Then he would lay his hand
nervously on the top of the little garden-gate, half open it, close it
again, and finally, as the letter-carrier advanced, hail him with the
inquiry, "Any letter for me to-day, Roger?" If the answer were a "No,"
and such was the ordinary reply, he would turn away with a sigh, and
walk slowly back to the house, bending more than ever, and coughing
painfully--he had a distressing cough at times; but his daughter would
meet him at the door, and pass her arm through his, and lead him in,
with a gentle affection in the action that was quite intelligible; and
though we could not hear her words, we knew she was consoling him. _We_
also were sorry for his disappointment. Sometimes a letter came, and he
would take it eagerly, but look at it with a changed countenance, for
most frequently it was only one of those large wafered epistles we have
since learned to recognize as bills--even then we could be sure it was
not the letter which he looked for.

And thus he watched daily for something that never came, all through the
bright summer and autumn, and even when the snow lay thick upon the
ground, and the cold morning and evening breeze must have been injurious
to one in feeble health. At last we missed him from his usual post, and
the arrival of the village doctor at the cottage confirmed our fears
that he was ill. We never saw him again. A fire glimmered from an upper
room, the chamber in which he slept; and at times his daughter's figure
passed the window as she moved across it, in her gentle and noiseless
task of nursing