ulary,
but she saw he disagreed with her.

"Here we are everything," she said; "we make laws straight from God for
ourselves."

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "Those, I find, are the toughest
laws of all! Come, darling, let us ask the boy yonder about the fishing
boats."

They were informed that one might possibly pass on the following night.
He borrowed from the youth a piece of hard chalk that acted in lieu of
pencil, and begged Leonie to write with it on some rough paper which had
served to wrap stores from the land.

"Tell your mother that we have decided, after three days on this island,
to leave for Brighton, on the British coast, there to marry. A year ago
we asked her blessing on our love, and she refused it; we pray that she
will now be more lenient."

"No good," murmured Leonie, translating, however, what he had dictated.

Below, he scribbled the address of an hotel in England, where a reply
might meet them.

"She is sure," he said, folding the note, "to call me a blackguard, and
as certain, I hope, to consent."

"My best and dearest," cried the girl in prospective contradiction of
anything that might be pronounced against him.

Twenty-four hours later, when the fishing smack alluded to hove in
sight, the missive was handed to the coastguard's son. He was ordered to
take it inland on the morrow, and deliver it without fail, at "La
Chaumais."

"But supposing my brother should not write? Supposing he should come?"

"That is what I hope. Le Sieur will support the dignity of the De
Quesnes--he will engage with the law and leave us to engage with only
love."

So the next evening they put out to sea through the gossamer scarves of
moving twilight--the man in his coastguard kit gay to frivolity, the
girl in fisher disguise, meditative, half tearful. She breathed not a
word while her straining eyes could clutch the outline of the land from
the embrace of night; but when all was wrapped in gloom she lifted her
gaze to the star-spangled heavens, and murmured with folded hands,
"_Cher Royaume de Cezambre, adieu!_"

Trooper Jones of the Light Brigade.

"To get myself in courage--crush out fears;
To strive with fate for something more than gold."

A year or two ago I received an envelope containing a lock of flame-red
hair wrapped in a soiled linen rag. By this token I knew that old
Sergeant Kemp--the name is a pseudonym, for reasons which will be
seen--Sergeant Kemp, formerly of the