o tame. How's the old man?"

"He'll never be better."

"Like enough at his age. Is he hard set against me?"

"We've never spoke of you for years now, till to-night."

"To-night? That's queer. I've a mind to tip up a stave to let him know
I'm about. I will, too. Let me see--"

"When Johnny comes marching home again,
Hooray! Hoo--"

"Don't, don't! Oh, why did you come back to-night, of all nights?"

"And why the devil not to-night so well as any other? You're a
comfortable lot, I must say! Maybe you'd like common metre better:--

"Within my fathers house
The blessed sit at meat.
Whilst I my belly stay
With husks the swine did eat."

--"Why shouldn't I wake the old man? I've done naught that I'm ashamed
of."

"It don't seem you're improved by soldiering."

"Improved? I've seen life." William drained his glass.

"An' got degraded."

"Burn your tongue! I'm going to see him." He rose and made towards the
door. 'Lizabeth stepped before him.

"Hush! You mustn't."

"'Mustn't?' That's a bold word."

"Well, then--'can't.' Sit down, I tell you."

"Hullo! Ain't you coming the mistress pretty free in this house?
Stand aside. I've got something to tell him--something that won't wait.
Stand aside, you she-cat!"

He pushed by her roughly, but she held on to his sleeve.

"It _must_ wait. Listen to me."

"I won't."

"You shall. He's dead."

"_Dead!_" He reeled back to the table and poured out another glassful
with a shaking hand. 'Lizabeth noticed that this time he added no
water.

"He died to-night," she explained; "but he's been ailin' for a year
past, an' took to his bed back in October."

William's face was still pallid; but he merely stammered--

"Things happen queerly. I'll go up and see him; I'm master here now.
You can't say aught to that. By the Lord! but I can buy myself out--I'm
sick of soldiering--and we'll settle down here and be comfortable."

"We?"

His foot was on the stair by this time. He turned and nodded.

"Yes, _we_. It ain't a bad game being mistress o' this house.
Eh, Cousin 'Lizabeth?"

She turned her hot face to the flame, without reply; and he went on his
way up the stairs.

'Lizabeth sat for a while staring into the wood embers with shaded eyes.
Whatever the path by which her reflections travelled, it led in the end
to the kettle. She remembered that the tea was still to make, and, on
stooping to set t