"And what of her eyes, sir? I have heard them called dreamy lakes, starry pools and unfathomable deeps, ere now. What d'you make of them?"
But the Major's own eyes were lowered, his bronzed cheek showed an unwonted flush and his sinewy fingers were fumbling with one of his loose coat-buttons.
"Nought!" said he at last, "others methinks have described 'em better than ever I could."
"Major d'Arcy," said the voice softer and sweeter than ever, "I grieve to tell you your wig is more over one eye than ever. And as for your old coat, some fine day, sir, an you chance to walk hereabouts I may possibly trouble to show you how a woman sews a button on!"
Saying which the apparition vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
The Major stood awhile deep-plunged in reverie, then setting the crabtree staff beneath his arm he wended his way slowly towards the house, limping a little more than usual as he always did when much preoccupied.
On his way he chanced upon the Sergeant wandering somewhat aimlessly with a hammer in his hand.
"Sergeant," said he slowly, "er—Zebedee—if any more cherries—should happen to—er—go astray—vanish——"
"Or be stole, sir!" added the Sergeant.
"Exactly, Zeb, precisely,—if such a contingency should arise you will—er——"