jack-boots is buckle-shoes, and you're very much alive, ain't you,
sir---so I'll ax you to pick up your property and to get back over the
wall yonder and to do it--prompt, sir."

The Sergeant was a powerful fellow, at his hip swung a heavy hanger and
in hairy fist he gripped a very ugly, knobby bludgeon, observing which
facts, Mr. Dalroyd did as was suggested; but, ere he dropped back into
the lane he turned and smiled down at the stalwart Sergeant.

"My very good clod," said he, "one of these fine, sunny days you shall
be drubbed for this--soundly, yes, soundly!"

The Sergeant nodded:

"Sir," said he, "same will be welcome, for, though life in the country
agrees wi' me on the whole better than expected, things is apt to grow
over quiet now and then and any little bit o' roughsome as you can
offer will be dooly welcome and do me a power o' good!"

"Be it so!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd and, smiling, he dropped from view.

Then the Sergeant, whistling softly, strode bedwards quite unaware of
the shapeless, horned head that watched him as he went.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW MY LADY BETTY WROTE A LETTER

"DEAR MAJOR D'ARCY,

"Burning yet with a natural womanly indignation by reason of your
shameless accusations, each and all as cruel, as unmanly, as
unwarranted as unjust I----"

"Pho!" exclaimed Lady Betty and tearing up her unfinished letter, threw
it on the floor and stamped on it.

"To MAJOR D'ARCY:

"SIR,

"Though unvirginal, unmaidenly, unwomanly, and lost to all sense of
modesty and shame, I am yet not entirely removed from the lesser
virtues and amongst them----"

"Pish!" cried Lady Betty, and rent this asunder also.

"MY DEAR MAJOR D'ARCY,

"By this time of course you are duly sorry and deeply ashamed, for the
very many indelicate expressions you gave voice to concerning me. You
have perchance passed a sleepless night and such is but your due
considering the abandoned and shameful treatment you accorded me. But
seeing you saved me from the brutal arms of----"

"Pshaw!" cried Lady Betty, and this letter shared the fate of its
predecessors.

Her black brows frowned, her pink finger-tips were ink-stained, her
cheeks glowed, her bosom heaved, her white teeth gnashed themselves, in
a word, Lady Betty was in a temper.

"Aunt Belinda, I--hate you!"

"Lud Betty, do you child!" murmured that lady, opening sleepy eyes,
"Pray what's amiss now?"

"Why must you tattle of me to Major d'Arcy?"

"