you long ago--should
never have taken her away, indeed. Perhaps we have both misjudged each
other."

"I fear that we have," the squire said, remembering the letters he
wrote to his son, in his anger, denouncing the sergeant in violent
language.

"It does not matter, now," the sergeant went on quietly; "but, as I do
not wish Aggie ever to come to think ill of me, in the future, it is
better to set it right.

"When I left the army, I had saved enough money to furnish a house, and
I took one at Southampton, and set up taking lodgers there. I had my
pension, and lived well until my wife died--a year before your son came
down, from London, with another gentleman, and took my rooms. My
daughter was seventeen when her mother died, and she took to managing
the house. I was careful of her, and gave her orders that, on no
account, was she ever to go into the lodgers' rooms. I waited on them,
myself.

"How your son first saw her, and got to speak to her, I don't know; but
I am not surprised that, when he did, he loved her, for there was no
prettier or sweeter girl in Hampshire. They took the rooms, first, only
for a fortnight, then the other gentleman went away, and your son
stayed on.

"One day--it came upon me like a thunderbolt--your son told me he
wanted to marry my Agnes. I was angry, at first. Angry, because it had
been done behind my back, and because I had been deceived. I said as
much; but your son assured me that he had never spoken to her in the
house, but had met her when she went out for her walks. Still, it was
wrong, and I told him so, and I told her so, though, in my heart, I did
not altogether blame them; for young people will be young people, and,
as he had acted honourably in coming to me at once, I let that pass.

"But, squire, though but a sergeant in His Majesty's service, I had my
pride as you had yours, and I told him, at once, that I would not give
my consent to my daughter's marrying him, until you had given yours;
and that he must leave the house at once, and not see Agnes again,
until he came with your written consent to show me.

"He went away at once. After a time, he began to write to me, urging me
to change my decision; and from this, although he never said so, I was
sure that you had refused to sanction his marriage. However, I stuck to
what I had said, though it was hard for me to do so, with my child
growing thin and pale before my eyes, with all her bright happiness
gone.

"So it we