ver do evil that good may come. It is only,
paralleled by his rash action in leaving Cambridge in defiance of all
advice and good sense; so far, that is to say, as a legally permissible
act, however foolish, can be paralleled by one of actual crime.
Moralists, probably, would tell us, in fact, that the first led
inevitably to the second.

It fell out in this way.

Once or twice in his travels with the Major he had been haunted by an
uncomfortable suspicion that this or that contribution that the warrior
made to their common table had not been come by honestly. When a
gentleman, known to possess no more than tenpence, and with a
predilection to drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse; let us say,
at seven o'clock, and reappears, rather breathless, forty minutes later
with a newly-plucked fowl--or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and
still warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, issues out
again later in the evening and returns with a strong smell of spirits
and a watery eye--it seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been
scrupulously honest. In cases of this kind Frank persevered in making
some excuse for not joining in the festivity: he put it to himself as
being a matter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was simply
that in a young man who made no scruple of begging in cases of
necessity. However, there it was, and even the Major, who began by
protesting, ended by acquiescing.

* * * * *

They were somewhere in the neighborhood of Market Weighton when the
thing happened--I cannot identify the exact spot. The situation was as
follows:

They had secured an excellent barn for their night's lodging--facing on
the road on the outskirts of a village. Behind them were, the farm
buildings, and the farmer's household gone to bed. The sun had set and
it was dark. They had supped sparingly, of necessity, and had finished
every morsel of food. (Frank had even found himself mechanically
gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) They had had a bad week of it;
the corn was not yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work
anywhere for honest men. The Major's gloom had become terrible; he had
even made remarks upon a choice between a workhouse and a razor. He had
got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets inside out to
secure the last possible grains of tobacco, and had smoked about a
quarter of a pipeful gathered in this way without uttering one word. He