scowling gaze upon the ladder and lurched towards it. But the
liquor had affected his legs and he staggered from wall to wall ere,
tripping and stumbling, he finally reached the ladder that shook under
the sudden impact. For a long moment he stood, weapon in hand, staring
up into the blackness above, then slowly and with much labour began the
ascent rung by rung, pausing very often and muttering hoarsely to
himself; he was already half-way up and the Sergeant, crouched in the
shadow, was waiting to receive him with upraised pistol-butt, when he
missed his hold, his foot slipped and pitching sideways he crashed to
the floor and lay still, snoring stertorously. Almost immediately old
Betty appeared, crossed to the outstretched body, looked at it, spat at
it and spoke:

"'Tis all well, dearies--he be nice and fast what wi' drink and fall.
Come down, my dearies, come down and get ye gone."

The Major followed Sergeant Zebedee down the ladder and crossing to the
old woman, removed his hat.

"Mam," said he, "'tis like enough you have saved a great wrong being
committed and I am deeply grateful. Words are poor things, mam, but
henceforth it shall be my care to see your remaining days be days of
comfort. Meantime pray accept this and rest assured of the future."
Saying which the Major laid a purse upon the table, then turned rather
hastily to escape old Betty's eager, tremulous thanks and stepped from
the cottage.

"Zebedee," said he as they led their horses out of the coppice, "I
recognised two of these rascals. One is the tramping gipsy I broke my
cane over and the other----"

"The other is Mr. Dalroyd's man Joe, sir."

"Ha! Art sure o' that, Zeb?"

"I am so, sir!"

"Excellent!" said the Major, swinging to saddle. "Our expedition
to-night hath not been in vain, after all."

"Where now, sir?" enquired the Sergeant, gathering up his reins.

"Home!"

"What--ha' we done, your honour?"

"Until to-morrow night--at the ruined mill, Zeb."

"To-morrow night--zounds, sir!" chuckled the Sergeant as they broke
into a trot. "'Twill be like old times!"

"'Twill be five to two, Zebedee!" said the Major thoughtfully.

"Warmish, sir--warmish! Though t' be sure the big rascal bore his arm
in a sling, still, 'tis pretty odds, I allow."

"There must be no shooting, Zeb."

"Why your honour, pistols are apt t' be a trifle unhandy for close
work, d'ye see. Now, a bagnet----"

"And no steel, Zeb. We'll have no kil