"D'ye mean 'twere a ghost, arter all?"
"Aye!"
"Didn't notice if 'twere a her or a him, sir?"
"No!"
"Why then, did you chance to ob-serve——" but seeing the Major's face, Sergeant Zebedee broke off with a gasp and, dropping his blunderbuss, reached out quick hands: "Good God! Your honour! What's amiss?"
"Let be, Zeb, let be," said the Major wearily, putting by these kindly hands, "'tis nought to worry over—nought to matter, nought i' the world, Zeb. Leave me awhile. Go to bed!"
"Bed, your honour? And leave you alone? Sir, I beg——"
"Sergeant Tring—get you indoors!"
The Sergeant stiffened, saluted, and, wheeling about, marched away forthwith, but, once in the shadows, turned to glance anxiously at the lonely figure so pale and still and rigid under the moon.
Being alone, the Major seemed to shrink within himself, and, limping slowly into the gloom of the hutch-like sentry-box, cast himself face down across the table and lay there; and from that place of shadows came sounds soft but awful. At last he lifted heavy head, and, staring before him, perforce beheld that part of the wall where he had first seen her; and again he writhed and shivered. But, all at once, as the spasm passed, he leaned forward tense and fierce, for in that precise spot a man was climbing the wall. The Major rose and stood with breath in check, watching as the unknown clambered into view, a slender figure that paused for a lingering, backward glance, then leapt down into the orchard; but, doing so, the unknown tripped, lost his hat and cursed softly, and in that moment the Major gripped him in iron hands and stared into the pale, fierce face of Mr. Dalroyd; the long curls of his peruke had fallen back leaving his features fully exposed in the strong moonlight, and now, as the Sergeant had done before him, the Major blenched and drew back, his fingers loosing their hold.