started
out for a stroll into the country. He had written a note to his father
before leaving Padbury merely stating his intention, and giving no
address. There was nothing more to be done but to enjoy himself as a
free man before making application to the nearest recruiting sergeant.

He passed the barracks where the 1st Battalion of the Royal Blankshire
Regiment was quartered, and thought how often he and Valentine had
lingered there, listening to the bugle-calls, and watching the drill
instructors at work in the square with their awkward squads. Just
inside the gate the guard were falling in, preparatory to the arrival
of the relief, and something in their smart appearance, and in the very
clank of their rifle-butts upon the flagstones, stirred his heart; yes,
that was the calling he meant to follow.

He strode off along the Hornalby road, whistling a lively tune, and
conjuring up bright mental pictures of the life before him. He might
not have Valentine's luck, but he would make up for it in other ways.
The path was steep and rough, no doubt, but in treading it scores of
brave men had won honour and renown; and with courage and
determination, there was no reason why he should not do the same. It
was a man's life, and here there was certainly more chance of
distinguishing oneself than in a manufacturer's office.

With these and other thoughts of a similar nature occupying his mind,
Jack tramped on gaily enough in the bright sunshine. Suddenly,
however, he stopped dead in the middle of the road. He had come in
sight of a wayside inn, the Black Horse, and the thought struck him
that he was within two miles of Brenlands.

All unbidden, a host of recollections came rushing upon him. The last
time he had walked from Melchester along this road was the afternoon on
which he brought back the silver locket for Queen Mab. What if the
pony-carriage should suddenly turn the corner? and yet, why should he
be afraid to meet her? He was doing nothing to be ashamed of, and the
recollection of the stolen watch never entered his head. He would have
given anything to have gone on and seen her again--to have had one more
kind smile and loving word. "My own boy Jack!" Would he ever hear her
say that again?

He turned on his heel, and began the return journey with a gloomy look
of discontent upon his face. His castles in the air had vanished: what
was there that made a soldier's life attractive but the right to go
abou