"Do you hear, Sergeant?"

"Aye, I hear, my lady, I hear!"

"Well--say something----"

"Mam, there aren't no words as'll fit--not one!"

"Well, what can you do?"

"Pipeclay my cross-belts for one thing and then there's my spatterdashes----"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if he goes, my lady, I go----"

"O folly, Sergeant, folly----"

"Agreed mam, heartily, but dooty is dooty and when his honour commands, I obey--'tis become a matter o'----"

"But he doesn't command--he means to ride without you."

"Same couldn't nowise be, my lady, consequently and therefore notwithstanding, if he goes--I go."

"And pray what of poor Mrs. Agatha?"

At this the Sergeant's grim mouth twitched and he turned to watch the thrush again.

"Dooty is dooty, my lady."

"Do you want to go fighting again?"

"No mam, I thought my soldiering was done, but if he goes, I----"

"And never try to stay him--you'll do nought----"

"Stay his honour the Major? My lady, if his mind's set on't, a whole troop o' cavalry couldn't stop him--no, not even a picked company o'

the Third itself--earthquakes, fires, floods nor furies couldn't----"

"No, but I can, Sergeant, and I will!" said my lady setting her dimpled chin resolutely. "Lord!" she exclaimed fervently, "what troublesome, wayward children men are--and how helpless!"

"Children, my lady?"

"Aye--both of you! He so wilfully wayward and you so helpless.

Prithee go fetch me Mrs. Agatha."

The Sergeant started. "Why mam--my lady, I----" he stammered, flushing, "'tis so early and she asleep and I--she being asleep, d'ye see, 'twouldn't be--that is I----"

"Sergeant," sighed my lady, "bring hither the ladder like a good child.

I'll e'en wake her myself."

So the ladder was brought, the Sergeant turned his back and in the twinkling of an eye my lady was over the wall and walking across the dewy gra.s.s beside him; reaching the house he pointed to a latticed cas.e.m.e.nt above their heads.

"'Tis rather high, Sergeant, but a handful of gravel----"

"Gravel, my lady?"

"Gravel, child--launched into the air and truly aimed----"

"But mam----" The Sergeant glanced from the loose gravel underfoot to the open lattice above and flushed. "Zounds mam, I--never did such a thing in all my days----"

"Then 'tis time you began, you're quite old enough--gravel, Sergeant--aimed carefully!"

The Sergeant obeyed and almost immediately out of the window came Mrs.

Agatha's pretty face framed in a dainty, be-ribanded nightcap; at sight of the Sergeant, she flushed rosily, perceiving my lady, who beckoned imperiously, she smiled, nodded and vanished.

"Mrs. Agatha hath a pretty taste in nightcaps, Sergeant Zebedee!" said my lady demurely. The Sergeant looked sheepish, grew red, became exceedingly grim and finally answered:

"Aye, my lady."

"And a pretty face below, Sergeant!" said she, watching a lark that soared, carolling, against the blue.

"Aye, my lady!"

"And you will go a-marching to the wars, Sergeant!"

At this he uttered a sound between a sigh and a groan and thereafter looked grimmer than ever.

In surprisingly short time Mrs. Agatha appeared, as neat, demure and self-possessed as usual.

"Is aught amiss, my lady?" she enquired, dropping a curtsey.

"Only this, Mrs. Agatha, Major d'Arcy will away campaigning again and the Sergeant feels he must needs go too, so I have summoned you from bed that we together may end such folly."

The Sergeant stared.

"And end it once and for all!" added my lady firmly.

"Aye for sure, madam," said Mrs. Agatha, calmly.

The Sergeant gaped.

"Then come to the orchard and let us talk."

Seated in the arbour my lady beckoned Mrs. Agatha to sit beside her:

"I don't think we need the Sergeant, do we?" she enquired.

"I'm sure we don't, my lady."