"Nought, Zeb," answered the Major heavily, "nought i' the world. Why?"
"Why sir, you do look uncommon—woeful."
"'Tis like enough, Zeb, like enough, for to-night I have—beheld myself. And I find, Zeb, yes, I find myself a pitiful failure as a—a county squire and man o' leisure. This otium cum dignitate is not for me so I'm done with it, Zeb, I'm done with it."
"Meaning how, sir, which and what, your honour?"
"Meaning that Nature made me a man of limitations, Zeb. I am a fair enough soldier but—in—in certain—other ways as 'twere I am woefully lacking. I'm a soldier now and always, Zeb, so a soldier I must live and a soldier, pray God, I'll die. Last night you were in a mind to follow me to the wars—doth the desire still hold?"
"Aye sir. Dooty is dooty. Where you go—I go."
"So be it, Zeb. We will ride to-morrow for Dover at five o' the clock."
"Very good, sir."
"Are the servants all abed?"
"Aye, sir, and so's the Colonel."