r husband being carried by--dead! So she falls
distracted and kills herself wi' the Captain's sword and arter comes
his honour the Major and kills the Captain. 'Twas a pretty bout, sir,
for the Captain was a master at rapier-play and famous duellist--laid
his honour's head open from eye to ear at the first pass and, what wi'
the blood-flow and heavy boots I thought his honour was done for more
than once--and if he had been, well--I had finger on trigger and
'twould ha' been no murder--him!"

"The Major killed him?"

"Dead as mutton, sir."

"Did you bury the villain?"

"No time, sir, we were a flanking party on a forced march, d'ye see."

"And you say Dalroyd is like him?"

"As one musket-ball to another, Master Tom."

"And she was young and beautiful, Zeb?"

"About my lady Betty's age sir, and much such another."

"Ah!" murmured the Viscount and scowled at his fist again. "Look'ee
Zeb, 'tis my fancy to master that thrust, every morning when you've
done with the Major you shall fence a bout or so with me, eh?"

"'Twill be joy, Master Tom."

"But, mark this Zeb, none must know of it--especially my uncle. I--I'm
minded to surprise him. So not a word and----"

On the warm, sunny air rose a woman's voice rich, sonorous and clear,
singing a plaintive melody. The Viscount rose, flicked a speck from
velvet coat-skirts and, crossing the orchard, swung himself astride the
wall. My lady Betty was gathering a posy; at the Viscount's sudden
appearance she broke off her song, swept him a curtsey then, standing
tall and gracious, shook white finger at him.

"Naughty lad!" said she. "Since when have you taken to philandering in
country lanes after midnight?"

The Viscount actually gasped; then took out his snuff-box, fumbled with
it and put it away again.

"I--I--Gad preserve me, Bet!" he stammered, "what d'ye mean?"

"I mean, my poor Pancras, since when ha' you taken to spying on me?"

The Viscount's cheek flushed, then he leaned suddenly forward his hands
tight-clenched:

"Betty," said he, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "O Bet, in God's
name why d'you meet a man of Dalroyd's repute--alone and at such an
hour?" My lady's clear gaze never wavered and she laughed gaily:

"Dear Pancras," she cried, "your tragical airs are ill-suited to the
top of a wall! Prithee come down to earth, smooth that face of care,
dear creature, and let us quarrel agreeably as of yore!"

The Viscount obeyed slowly and loo