s the damndest
stuff! Always catches me--vilely! A--a curse--on't and--goo'-night,
sir!" And, turning abruptly away he sneezed himself out of the room.

For a long while the Major stood looking down into the dying fire, then
he stirred, sighed, shook his head and, extinguishing the candles,
tramped heavily upstairs, closing the door of his bedchamber a little
louder than was necessary. Then, seated at his writing-table he fell
to work and wrote so industriously that the clocks were striking the
hour of one when at last he rose and stood listening intently. The
house lay very still, not a sound reached him save the whisper of the
night-wind beyond his open lattice. Treading softly, he crossed to the
hearth, above which the Sergeant had hung his swords, half-a-dozen
light, richly-hilted walking-swords and his heavier service blade, the
colichemarde. This he reached down, drew it from shabby leathern
scabbard and found the steel bright and glittering with the Sergeant's
unremitting care; so he sheathed it, girded it to his side and, opening
a tall, carved press, took thence his old campaign cloak, stained by
much hard service, and a pair of long and heavy riding-boots. Kicking
off buckled shoes he proceeded to don this cumbrous footgear but
paused, and rising, took the spurred boots under his arm together with
the cloak and crossing the wide room in stockinged feet, softly opened
the door and stood again to listen; finally he took his candle, closed
the door with infinite care and crept softly down the great, wide
staircase. Reaching the foot he paused to look back up that noble
stair and to glance round the spacious hall with its tapestries, its
dim portraits, its gleaming arms and armour then, sighing, took his way
to the library. Here he paused to shift the candle from one hand to
the other; then he opened the door and fell back, staring.

The Sergeant advanced one pace and came to attention. Very upright he
stood in ancient, buff-lined, service coat, in cross-belts and
spatterdashes, his hat at its true regimental cock, his wig newly
ironed and powdered--a soldier from the crown of his head to the lowest
button of his long, white gaiters, a veteran grim and ineffably calm.
The scarlet of his coat was a little faded, perhaps, but the sheen of
broad white belts and the glitter of buckles and side-arms made up for
that. His chin, high-poised above leathern stock, looked squarer than
usual and his arm seemed a