are not write yet in these lines read
all thou fain wouldst read. God keep thee my love and waking or
sleeping thou hast the prayers and thoughts of thy Betty.

My poor eyes are all bleared with my weeping and my nose is woeful.
And John dear take care of this dear old coat it shall be my comforter
this night."

Having read to the end, the Major carefully re-folded the letter and
thrust it into an inner pocket; took it out again, unfolded it and
having re-read every word once more put it away. Then rising, he set
the Ramillie coat upon a chair-back and taking out his handkerchief
dusted it, touching its rumpled folds with hands grown almost reverent,
which done he sat down and propping square chin on fist gazed at it
with a new and wonderful interest. Then he took out the letter again,
read it through again and pressed it to his lips; thus he sat, his
attention divided between the letter and the coat, until the clock
struck two. He was reading the letter for perhaps the sixth time when
came a knock at the door and the Sergeant entered.

"Ax your pardon sir, but what o' the horses?" he enquired.

"Horses?" repeated the Major vacantly.

"Aye sir, they've been a-standing in their stalls saddled and bridled a
hour or more."

"Have they, Zeb?"

"Aye sir, a-waiting for your honour to give the word to march."

"Why then Zeb," said the Major rising and taking the Ramillie coat over
his arm, "you may unsaddle 'em, my honour has decided--not to march."

"Very good, sir!" The Sergeant blinked, saluted and wheeled about.

"Sergeant Zebedee!" The Sergeant wheeled back again.

"Sir?"

"I think--ha--I rather fancy I called you a damned obstinate fellow as
'twere and er--so forth."

"You did so, sir. Likewise 'ass' and 'dolt.'"

"Why if I said 'em, I meant 'em, Zebedee and----" The Major strode
forward impulsively and grasped Sergeant Zebedee's hand. "'Twas true
Zeb, 'twas true every word, so you are, but--God bless thee for't,
Zeb!" Saying which the Major went upstairs to his chamber bearing the
Ramillie coat much as if it had been some sacred relic rather than the
rumpled, unlovely thing it was.

Being alone the Sergeant stared at his right hand, smiled, took it in
his left and shook it heartily. "_Sapperment_!" he exclaimed, "All I
says is, O woman!"

CHAPTER XLIX

OF A JOURNEY BY NIGHT

The Major stood chin in hand staring at the weather-beaten stile, set a
little back from the road betwee