together, when one
stood still, the other advancing further, and stretching a white line of
tape between them. Two more of the men marched to another outlying
point, where they made marks in the ground. Thus they walked about and
took distances, obviously according to some preconcerted scheme.

At the end of this systematic proceeding one solitary horseman--a
commissioned officer, if his uniform could be judged rightly at that
distance--rode up the down, went over the ground, looked at what the
others had done, and seemed to think that it was good. And then the girl
heard yet louder tramps and clankings, and she beheld rising from where
the others had risen a whole column of cavalry in marching order. At a
distance behind these came a cloud of dust enveloping more and more
troops, their arms and accoutrements reflecting the sun through the haze
in faint flashes, stars, and streaks of light. The whole body approached
slowly towards the plateau at the top of the down.

Anne threw down her work, and letting her eyes remain on the nearing
masses of cavalry, the worsteds getting entangled as they would, said,
'Mother, mother; come here! Here's such a fine sight! What does it
mean? What can they be going to do up there?'

The mother thus invoked ran upstairs and came forward to the window. She
was a woman of sanguine mouth and eye, unheroic manner, and pleasant
general appearance; a little more tarnished as to surface, but not much
worse in contour than the girl herself.

Widow Garland's thoughts were those of the period. 'Can it be the
French,' she said, arranging herself for the extremest form of
consternation. 'Can that arch-enemy of mankind have landed at last?' It
should be stated that at this time there were two arch-enemies of
mankind--Satan as usual, and Buonaparte, who had sprung up and eclipsed
his elder rival altogether. Mrs. Garland alluded, of course, to the
junior gentleman.

'It cannot be he,' said Anne. 'Ah! there's Simon Burden, the man who
watches at the beacon. He'll know!'

She waved her hand to an aged form of the same colour as the road, who
had just appeared beyond the mill-pond, and who, though active, was bowed
to that degree which almost reproaches a feeling observer for standing
upright. The arrival of the soldiery had drawn him out from his drop of
drink at the 'Duke of York' as it had attracted Anne. At her call he
crossed the mill-bridge, and came towards the window.

Ann