s I have said, was empty: but while he
assured himself of this, the light rested on his face, and through
the branches of the mock-orange bush I saw his features distinctly.
It was Sergeant Letcher.

He wore his red uniform and white pantaloons, but had slipped off his
boots and--as I saw when he rapidly passed the next two panels of
light--was carrying them in his hand. Reaching the first of the open
windows, he stood for a while in the shade beside it, listening; and
then, to my astonishment, turned and stole back by the way he had
come. I watched him till he disappeared in the darkness beyond the
house-porch.

Meanwhile Miss Belcher had been calling to clear away the supper and
set the tables for cards.

"Nonsense, Lydia!" Mr. Rogers objected. "It's a good
one-in-the-morning, and the company tired. Where's the sense, too,
of keeping the place ablaze on a night like this, with Gauger
Rosewarne scouring the country, and the dragoons behind him, and all
in the worst possible tempers?"

"My little Magistrate," Miss Belcher retorted, "there's naught to
hinder your trotting home to bed if you're timorous. Jim's on his
way to the moor by this time with the rest of the horses: 'twas at
his starting the dogs gave tongue just now, and I'll have to teach
them better manners. As for the roan, if he's hurt or Rosewarne
happens on him, there's evidence that I sold him to a gipsy three
weeks back, at St. Germans fair. Here, Bathsheba, take the keys of
my bureau upstairs; you'll find some odd notes in the left-hand
drawer by the fire-place. Bring Mr. Rogers down his ten pounds and
let him go. We'll not compromise a Justice of the Peace if we can
help it."

"Don't play the fool, Lydia," growled Mr. Rogers, and added
ingenuously, "The fact is, I wanted a word with you alone."

"Oh, you scandalous man! And me tucked between the sheets!" she
protested, while the company haw-haw'd. "You'll have to put up with
some more innocent amusement, my dear. There's a badger somewhere
round at the back, in a barrel: we'll have him in with the dogs--
unless you prefer a quiet round with the cards."

"Oh, damn the badger at this hour!" swore Mr. Rogers. "Cards are
quiet at any rate. Here, Raby--Penrose--Tregaskis--which of you'll
cut in? Whitmore--you'll take a hand, won't you?"

"The Parson's tired to-night, and with better excuse than you.
He's ridden down from Plymouth."

"Hallo, Whitmore--what were you doing in Plymout