relieved at twelve. A
little before that time, I had challenged, and Miss Maryon and Mrs.
Belltott had come in.

"Good Davis," says Miss Maryon, "what is the matter? Where is my
brother?"

I told her what was the matter, and where her brother was.

"O Heaven help him!" says she, clasping her hands and looking up--she was
close in front of me, and she looked most lovely to be sure; "he is not
sufficiently recovered, not strong enough for such strife!"

"If you had seen him, miss," I told her, "as I saw him when he
volunteered, you would have known that his spirit is strong enough for
any strife. It will bear his body, miss, to wherever duty calls him. It
will always bear him to an honourable life, or a brave death."

"Heaven bless you!" says she, touching my arm. "I know it. Heaven bless
you!"

Mrs. Belltott surprised me by trembling and saying nothing. They were
still standing looking towards the sea and listening, after the relief
had come round. It continuing very dark, I asked to be allowed to take
them back. Miss Maryon thanked me, and she put her arm in mine, and I
did take them back. I have now got to make a confession that will appear
singular. After I had left them, I laid myself down on my face on the
beach, and cried for the first time since I had frightened birds as a boy
at Snorridge Bottom, to think what a poor, ignorant, low-placed, private
soldier I was.

It was only for half a minute or so. A man can't at all times be quite
master of himself, and it was only for half a minute or so. Then I up
and went to my hut, and turned into my hammock, and fell asleep with wet
eyelashes, and a sore, sore heart. Just as I had often done when I was a
child, and had been worse used than usual.

I slept (as a child under those circumstances might) very sound, and yet
very sore at heart all through my sleep. I was awoke by the words, "He
is a determined man." I had sprung out of my hammock, and had seized my
firelock, and was standing on the ground, saying the words myself. "He
is a determined man." But, the curiosity of my state was, that I seemed
to be repeating them after somebody, and to have been wonderfully
startled by hearing them.

As soon as I came to myself, I went out of the hut, and away to where the
guard was. Charker challenged:

"Who goes there?"

"A friend."

"Not Gill?" says he, as he shouldered his piece.

"Gill," says I.

"Why, what the deuce do you do out of your