Nearer came the sound, and nearer, until, presently, now in moonlight, now in shadow, there strode a tall, martial figure in all the glory of braided tunic, and furred dolman, the three chevrons upon his sleeve, and many shining medals upon his breast,—a stalwart, soldierly figure, despite the one empty sleeve, who moved with the long, swinging stride that only the cavalry-man can possess. Being come beneath a certain latticed window, the Sergeant halted, and, next moment, his glittering sabre flashed up to the salute; then, with it upon his shoulder, he wheeled, and began to march up and down, his spurs jingling, his sabre gleaming, his dolman swinging, his sabre glittering, each time he wheeled; while Miss Priscilla leaning forward, watched him wide-eyed, and with hands tight clasped. Then, all at once,—with a little fluttering sigh she rose.
Thus, the Sergeant as he marched to and fro, was suddenly aware of one who stood in the full radiance of the moon,—and with one hand outstretched towards him. And now, as he paused, disbelieving his very eyes, he saw that in her extended hand she held a great ripe peach.
"Sergeant!" she said, speaking almost in a whisper, "Oh Sergeant—won't you—take it?"
The heavy sabre thudded down into the grass, and he took a sudden step towards her. But, even now, he hesitated, until, coming nearer yet, he could look down into her eyes.
Then he spoke, and his voice was very hoarse, and uneven:
"Miss Priscilla?" he said, "Priscilla?—Oh, Priscilla!" And, with the word, he had fallen on his knees at her feet, and his strong, solitary arm was folded close about her.
CHAPTER XIX
In which Porges Big, and Porges Small discuss the subject of Matrimony
"What is it, my Porges?"
"Well,—I'm a bit worried, you know."