cked up in her, it was by this
time thrust a long way down from the light.

'I want you to go somewhere with me if you will,' he said, still holding
her hand.

'Yes? Where is it?'

He pointed to a distant hill-side which, hitherto green, had within the
last few days begun to show scratches of white on its face. 'Up there,'
he said.

'I see little figures of men moving about. What are they doing?'

'Cutting out a huge picture of the king on horseback in the earth of the
hill. The king's head is to be as big as our mill-pond and his body as
big as this garden; he and the horse will cover more than an acre. When
shall we go?'

'Whenever you please,' said she.

'John!' cried Mrs. Loveday from the front door. 'Here's a friend come
for you.'

John went round, and found his trusty lieutenant, Trumpeter Buck, waiting
for him. A letter had come to the barracks for John in his absence, and
the trumpeter, who was going for a walk, had brought it along with him.
Buck then entered the mill to discuss, if possible, a mug of last year's
mead with the miller; and John proceeded to read his letter, Anne being
still round the corner where he had left her. When he had read a few
words he turned as pale as a sheet, but he did not move, and perused the
writing to the end.

Afterwards he laid his elbow against the wall, and put his palm to his
head, thinking with painful intentness. Then he took himself vigorously
in hand, as it were, and gradually became natural again. When he parted
from Anne to go home with Buck she noticed nothing different in him.

In barracks that evening he read the letter again. It was from Bob; and
the agitating contents were these:--

'DEAR JOHN,--I have drifted off from writing till the present time
because I have not been clear about my feelings; but I have discovered
them at last, and can say beyond doubt that I mean to be faithful to
my dearest Anne after all. The fact is, John, I've got into a bit of
a scrape, and I've a secret to tell you about it (which must go no
further on any account). On landing last autumn I fell in with a
young woman, and we got rather warm as folks do; in short, we liked
one another well enough for a while. But I have got into shoal water
with her, and have found her to be a terrible take-in. Nothing in her
at all--no sense, no niceness, all tantrums and empty noise, John,
though she seemed monstrous clever at first. So my