to the things I understand. But Happiness hath stooped to me a
little while to brush me with his pinions ere he fled and hath left
with me a glory shall never fade. So now, dear maid that I do love and
ever shall beyond mine understanding, here do I take my leave of thee.
I ride alone henceforth yet shall I not be solitary since thy sweet
memory goeth beside me even unto my journey's end.

JOHN D'ARCY."

And now my lady turned and looked upon that war-worn coat through a
mist of tears and sinking down, laid soft cheek upon its tarnished
braid and lay thus a long while, the letter clasped to swelling bosom.
Then starting up she gathered those torn scraps of paper and strove to
piece them together; but they were inextricably mixed, yet here and
there the fragment of some sentence would leap to meet her.

"... my breaking heart ... ever doubted thine eyes so sweet and true
... joy for me is dead, the world a black nothingness ... O that night
with thee in the dawn when earth touched heaven ... if Death should
meet me in the field I'll meet him gladly ... my Love, my Betty,
leaving thee I leave my very soul behind ... my farewell to thee and to
love ... forget thee never..."

These she saw and many more. Every scrap of crumpled paper she
smoothed with gentle fingers and every written word she read and laid
tenderly aside.

And now, since she had pried thus far, she opened the other missive
also, a folded sheet of paper, and saw this:

"I, John d'Arcy of Shevening Manor, Westerham, Kent, in the event of my
falling in action do will and bequeath as follows:

To Zebedee Tring my servant late of His Majesty's Third Regiment of
Foot the sum of Five Thousand Pounds and any cottage he may choose on
my estate.

To Mrs. Agatha Ridley the sum of One Thousand Pounds: But should she
marry the aforesaid Zebedee Tring then I bequeath to them a marriage
portion of Four Thousand Pounds making Ten Thousand Pounds in all.

And all the rest I die possessed of soever both land and monies I leave
unconditionally to my dear Lady Elizabeth Carlyon.

JOHN D'ARCY."

Having folded this up again and laid it by, Lady Betty sat awhile very
still, staring out into the fragrant, summer night. Then she blew out
the candle and lying amid the gloom, fell to sudden, stifled sobbing
and muffled, passionate whispers, her head pillowed upon a certain
mended coat-sleeve; and when at last she fell asleep, that shabby,
war-worn garment lay