"Moon, sir?"
"Aye, the moon!" said the Major, dismounting. "Do you go on with the horses, I've a mind for walking." So he handed Sergeant Zebedee the reins of his horse and turned aside down this quiet bye-lane.
This lane that led away between blooming hedges, that wandered on, haphazard as it were, to lose itself at last in a little wood where nightingales sang; this bye-lane wherein he had walked with her that never-to-be-forgotten night and stood with her to watch the world grow bright and joyous with a new day; this leafy sheltered lane that held for him the sweet magic of her presence and was therefore a hallowed place.
Thus as he walked, his slow steps falling silent on soft mosses and dewy grass, the Major took off his hat.
Bareheaded and with reverent feet he wandered on dreaming of those joys that were to be, God willing, and turning a sharp bend in the lane stopped all at once, smitten to sudden, breathless immobility.
She sat upon the wall, dainty foot a-swing, while below stood Mr. Dalroyd who seized that shapely foot in irreverent hands, stooped and covered it with kisses that grew more bold and audacious until she, stifling laughter in her cloak, freed herself with a sudden, vigorous kick that sent Mr. Dalroyd's hat flying—
The Major turned and hurried away looking neither right nor left; becoming conscious of the hat in his hand, he laughed and crammed it on his head. So he went with great strides until he reached a stile beside the way and halting, he leaned there, with face bowed upon his arms. Long he stood thus, silent and motionless and with face hidden. At last he raised his head, looked up at heaven and round about him like one who wakes in a new world, and limped slowly homewards.
"Sir," said the Sergeant, meeting him at the door, "Colonel Cleeve is here."
"O!" said the Major, slowly. "Is he, Zeb? That is well!"
"A-snoring in the library, sir!"