"Nay sir, here's spells and witchcraft! 'Tis an ill place and an ill hour—come your ways wi' me, sir."
"Aye, 'tis witchcraft—spells and enchantments, as 'twere, Zeb, but 'twill pass. Lend me your arm." So saying the Major rose and began to limp towards the house. But, as they went thus, side by side, he paused to glance up at the waning moon. "'Tis a fair night, Zeb, I've never seen a fairer. What o'clock is it?"
"Nigh on to three, your honour."
"So late! How time doth flee a man once youth be gone. We've kept many a night-watch together ere now, Zeb, but the hours never sped so fast in those days, we were younger then, Zebedee, so much younger, d'ye see."
Being come into his study the Major stood beside his desk staring down at his orderly papers and documents, vacant-eyed.
"You'll come to bed now, sir?" enquired the Sergeant anxiously.
"Nay Zeb, 'tis so late I'll e'en sit and watch the dawn come."
"Why then sir, you'll take something to eat and drink? Do now!"
The Major shook his head:
"I want nought, Zeb, save to be—alone."