"Very, Sergeant, but--"

"Well, sir?"

"Peaches do--_not_ improve with age, Sergeant,--'and the peaches are--riper than ever they were,--to-night!'" The Sergeant stopped short, and stared at Bellew wide-eyed.

"Why--sir," said he very slowly, "you don't mean to say you--think as she--meant--that--?"

"But I do!" nodded Bellew. And now, just as suddenly as he had stopped, the Sergeant turned, and went on again.

"Lord!" he whispered--"Lord! Lord!"

The moon was rising, and looking at the Sergeant, Bellew saw that there was a wonderful light in his face, yet a light that was not of the moon.

"Sergeant," said Bellew, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "why don't you speak to her?"

"Speak to her,--what me! No, no, Mr. Bellew!" said the Sergeant, hastily. "No, no,--can't be done, sir,--not to be mentioned, or thought of, sir!" The light was all gone out of his face, now, and he walked with his chin on his breast.

"The surprising thing to me, Sergeant, is that you have never thought of putting your fortune to the test, and--speaking your mind to her, before now."

"Thought of it, sir!" repeated the Sergeant, bitterly, "thought of it!--Lord, sir! I've thought of it--these five years--and more. I've thought of it--day and night. I've thought of it so very much that I know--I never can--speak my mind to her. Look at me!" he cried suddenly, wheeling and confronting Bellew, but not at all like his bold, erect, soldierly self,--"Yes, look at me,--a poor, battered, old soldier--with his--best arm gone,--left behind him in India, and with nothing in the world but his old uniform,--getting very frayed and worn,--like himself, sir,--a pair o' jack boots, likewise very much worn, though wonderfully patched, here and there, by my good comrade, Peterday,--a handful of medals, and a very modest pension. Look at me, with the best o' my days behind me, and wi' only one arm left--and I'm a deal more awkward and helpless with that one arm than you'd think, sir,--look at me, and then tell me how could such a man dare to speak his mind to--such a woman.

What right has--such a man to even think of speaking his mind to--such a woman, when there's part o' that man already in the grave? Why, no right, sir,--none in the world. Poverty, and one arm, are facts as make it impossible for that man to--ever speak his mind. And, sir--that man--never will. Sir,--good night to you!--and a pleasant walk!--I turn back here."

Which the Sergeant did, then and there, wheeling sharp right about face; yet, as Bellew watched him go, he noticed that the soldier's step was heavy, and slow, and it seemed that, for once, the Sergeant had even forgotten to put on his imaginary spurs.

CHAPTER XV

_In which Adam explains_

"Adam!"

"Yes, Miss Anthea."

"How much money did Mr. Bellew give you to--buy the furniture?"

Miss Anthea was sitting in her great elbow chair, leaning forward with her chin in her hand, looking at him in the way which always seemed to Adam as though she could see into the verimost recesses of his mind.

Therefore Adam twisted his hat in his hands, and stared at the ceiling, and the floor, and the table before Miss Anthea, and the wall behind Miss Anthea--anywhere but at Miss Anthea.

"You ax me--how much it were, Miss Anthea?"

"Yes, Adam."

"Well,--it were a goodish sum."

"Was it--fifty pounds?"

"Fifty pound!" repeated Adam, in a tone of lofty disdain, "no, Miss Anthea, it were _not_ fifty pound."

"Do you mean it was--more?"

"Ah!" nodded Adam, "I mean as it were a sight more. If you was to take the fifty pound you mention, add twenty more, and then another twenty to that, and then come ten more to that,--why then--you'd be a bit nigher the figure--"

"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Anthea, aghast.

"Ah! a hundred pound!" nodded Adam, rolling the words upon his tongue with great gusto,--"one--hundred--pound, were the sum, Miss Anthea."

"Oh, Adam!"

"Lord love you, Miss Anthea!--that weren't nothing,--that were only a flea-bite, as you might say,--he give more--ah! nigh double as much as that for the side-board."

"Nonsense, Adam!"

"It be gospel true, Miss Anthea. That there sideboard were the plum o'

the sale, so to speak, an' old Grimes had set 'is 'eart on it, d'ye see.

Well, it were bid up to eighty-six pound, an' then Old Grimes 'e goes twenty more, making it a hundred an' six. Then--jest as I thought it were all over, an' jest as that there Old Grimes were beginning to swell hisself up wi' triumph, an' get that red in the face as 'e were a sight to behold,--Mr. Belloo, who'd been lightin' 'is pipe all this time, up and sez,--'Fifty up!' 'e sez in his quiet way, making it a hundred an'

fifty-six pound, Miss Anthea,--which were too much for Grimes,--Lord! I thought as that there man were going to burst, Miss Anthea!" and Adam gave vent to his great laugh at the mere recollection. But Anthea was grave enough, and the troubled look in her eyes quickly sobered him.

"A hundred and fifty-six pounds!" she repeated in an awed voice, "but it--it is awful!"

"Steepish!" admitted Adam, "pretty steepish for a old sideboard, I'll allow, Miss Anthea,--but you see it were a personal matter betwixt Grimes an' Mr. Belloo. I began to think as they never would ha' left off biddin', an' by George!--I don't believe as Mr. Belloo ever would have left off biddin'. Ye see, there's summat about Mr. Belloo,--whether it be his voice, or his eye, or his chin,--I don't know,--but there be summat about him as says, very distinct that if so be 'e should 'appen to set 'is mind on a thing,--why 'e's a-going to get it, an' 'e ain't a-going to give in till 'e do get it. Ye see, Miss Anthea, 'e's so very quiet in 'is ways, an' speaks so soft, an' gentle,--p'raps that's it.

Say, for instance, 'e were to ax you for summat, an' you said 'No'--well, 'e wouldn't make no fuss about it,--not 'im,--he'd jest--take it, that's what he'd do. As for that there sideboard he'd a sat there a bidding and a bidding all night I do believe."

"But, Adam, why did he do it! Why did he buy--all that furniture?"

"Well,--to keep it from being took away, p'raps!"

"Oh, Adam!--what am I to do?"

"Do, Miss Anthea?"

"The mortgage must be paid off--dreadfully soon--you know that, and--I can't--Oh, I can't give the money back--"

"Why--give it back!--No, a course not, Miss Anthea!"

"But I--can't--keep it!"

"Can't keep it, Miss Anthea mam,--an' why not?"

"Because I'm very sure he doesn't want all those things,--the idea is quite--absurd! And yet,--even if the hops do well, the money they bring will hardly be enough by itself, and so--I was selling my furniture to make it up, and--now--Oh! what am I to do?" and she leaned her head wearily upon her hand.

Now, seeing her distress, Adam all st.u.r.dy loyalty that he was, must needs sigh in sympathy, and fell, once more, to twisting his hat until he had fairly wrung it out of all semblance to its kind, twisting and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it between his strong hands as though he would fain wring out of it some solution to the problem that so perplexed his mistress. Then, all at once, the frown vanished from his brow, his grip loosened upon his unfortunate hat, and his eye brightened with a sudden gleam.

"Miss Anthea," said he, drawing a step nearer, and lowering his voice mysteriously, "supposing as I was to tell you that 'e did want that furnitur',--ah! an' wanted it bad?"

"Now how can he, Adam? It isn't as though he lived in England," said Anthea, shaking her head, "his home is thousands of miles away,--he is an American, and besides--"

"Ah!--but then--even a American--may get married. Miss Anthea, mam!"

said Adam.