me and holy
influences, of mother love and father's blessing and children's hope and
faith. It filled his heart with reverence and his eyes with tears. The
babble and chat for an instant were silenced, and then Mrs. Darling
spoke.

"The worst of these army quarters is that you can hear just what's going
on next door; but," she added, cheerfully, "you'll soon be where you
won't be bothered on one side, at least."

Sanders gave a queer, quick glance at the speaker and then at Davies.
Jervis plunged into an immediate rhapsody on the subject of Mrs.
Leonard's children, whom he declared to be the best little beggars he
ever knew, unless it was Cranston's. "Of course," he added,
diplomatically, "I can safely praise them in your presence, ladies, as
you have none of your own."

Then conversation languished, for Davies was silent and Mrs. Davies
uninspired. The visitors left and went laughing down the row, their gay
voices ringing in the frosty air.

"How long had they been here, dear?" asked Davies as he returned to the
fireside.

"The ladies? Oh, I don't know. Quite a little while. They were so
interested in everything,--so friendly. I quite forgot my headache while
they were here. Now it seems to be coming on again, and if you don't
mind I think I won't sit up,--unless somebody else is coming."

"There will hardly be any more callers to-night," he answered, gravely.
"If your head aches you might be better for going early to bed, and I
will sit here and read awhile."

But the wandering thoughts refused to be chained to the page before him.
His heart was full and vaguely troubled. "I shall be better for a turn
in the cold air," he thought, and so, throwing his cape over his
shoulders, he quietly left the house.

It was just after ten, a still, sparkling winter's night. Across the
snowy level of the parade the long rows of wooden barracks lay dark and
silent, no lights burning except in the window of some company office or
first sergeant's room. Those were the days of "early to bed and early to
rise," and every man was supposed to be sleeping by ten so as to be up
and doing stable duty--or nothing--at dawn. Officers and ladies, the
privileged class of the army, made their own regulations as to domestic
hours of retiring. The enlisted man slept or was supposed to sleep "by
order." Mr. Davies, finding it essential to his comfort to sally forth
and imbibe free air, had no one to say him nay,--Mrs. Davies having
retired,