k in the chair and covered his face with
twitching fingers; but, little by little, upon the gloom about him
stole a faint glow, a tender radiance, an ever-brightening glory and
lo, it was day. And presently, beholding this gladsome light, he
lifted drooping head and glanced about him.

"Betty!" he whispered, "O sweet woman of my dream, though the dream
vanish memory abideth and in my memory I will hold thee pure and sweet
and fragrant everlastingly!"

Then he arose and heeding no more the pistols on the wall, went forth
calm-eyed into the golden, joyous freshness of the dawn.

CHAPTER XX

HOW THE MAJOR RAN AWAY

Larks, high in air, carolled faint and sweet, birds chirped joyously
from fragrant hedgerows, a gentle wind set leaves dancing merrily, and
the Major's big bay mare, being full of life and the joy of it, tossed
her shapely head and beat a tattoo with her four round hoofs; but the
Major rode with shoulders drooping and in gloomy silence, wherefore the
Sergeant trotting behind on his stout cob, stared at the woebegone
figure and shook anxious head:

"She's a bit skittish, sir," he hazarded at last as the powerful bay
pranced sideways toward the hedge, "a bit wilful-like, your honour!"

"She's so young, Zeb," answered the Major absently, "so young, so full
of life and youth that 'tis but to be--eh, what the devil are you
saying, Sergeant Zebedee?"

"Why your honour, I----"

"Hold your tongue, sir!"

"But sir," began the Sergeant, wondering to see his master's face so
red all at once, "I did but----"

"Be silent!" said the Major and, giving his mare the rein, rode on
ahead while the Sergeant trotted after staring in turn at the blooming
hedges, the white road, the blue sky and the Major's broad back.

"'Sniggers!" he exclaimed at last under his breath,

Presently the road narrowed between high, sloping banks clothed with
brush and bramble from amid which tangle a man rose suddenly, a tall,
dark, gipsy-looking fellow, at whose unexpected appearance the Major's
bay mare swerved and reared, all but unseating her rider; whereat the
fellow laughed vindictively, the Sergeant swore and the Major soothed
his plunging steed with voice and hand. Breathing fierce anathemas and
dire threats, the Sergeant was in the act of dismounting when the Major
stopped him peremptorily.

"But sir, 'tis a rogue, 'tis a plaguy rascal, 'tis a----"

"'Tis no matter, Zeb."

"But damme sir, same do be a-shaking his di