d pistol, raked the logs together, and set the kettle on the flame.
She would take comfort in a dish of tea.

There was company in the singing of the kettle, the hiss of its overflow
on the embers, and the rattle with which she set out cup, saucer, and
teapot. She was bending over the hearth to lift the kettle, when a
sound at the door caused her to start up and listen.

The latch had been rattled: not by the wind, for the December night
without was misty and still. There was somebody on the other side of
the door; and, as she turned, she saw the latch lowered back into its
place.

With her eyes fastened on this latch, she set down the kettle softly and
reached out for her pistol. For a moment or two there was silence.
Then someone tapped gently.

The tapping went on for half a minute; then followed silence again.
'Lizabeth stole across the kitchen, pistol in hand, laid her ear
against the board, and listened.

Yes, assuredly there was someone outside. She could catch the sound of
breathing, and the shuffling of a heavy boot on the door-slate. And now
a pair of knuckles repeated the tapping, more imperiously.

"Who's there?"

A man's voice, thick and husky, made some indistinct reply.

'Lizabeth fixed the cap more securely on her pistol, and called again--

"Who's there?"

"What the devil--" began the voice.

'Lizabeth shot back the bolt and lifted the latch.

"If you'd said at once 'twas William come back, you'd ha' been let in
sooner," she said quietly.

A thin puff of rain floated against her face as the door opened, and a
tall soldier stepped out of the darkness into the glow of the warm
kitchen.

"Well, this here's a queer home-coming. Why, hullo, 'Lizabeth--with a
pistol in your hand, too! Do you shoot the fatted calf in these parts
now? What's the meaning of it?"

The overcoat of cinder grey that covered his scarlet tunic was powdered
with beads of moisture; his black moustaches were beaded also; his face
was damp, and smeared with the dye that trickled from his sodden cap.
As he stood there and shook himself, the rain ran down and formed small
pools upon the slates around his muddy boots.

He was a handsome fellow, in a florid, animal fashion; well-set, with
black curls, dark eyes that yet contrived to be exceedingly shallow, and
as sanguine a pair of cheeks as one could wish to see. It seemed to
'Lizabeth that the red of his complexion had deepened since she saw him
last, while the