a moment he faced
about, and picking up the lanthorn, examined me in turn.

"Your name and rank, sir?" he said to me.

"Hugh Maxwell, captain."

"God bless me, sir! But this is not the first time I have heard
your name, nor seen you, if you'll excuse my saying it," he said,
most earnestly.

"Like enough. What is your name?"

"Neil Murray, sir."

"And a very good name it is; but I cannot say I recall it."

"But you will remember the march to Derby, sir, and Lord George?"
he asked, eagerly.

"I am never likely to forget it. Were you there?"

"Where else would I be when my grandfather was own cousin to his?"

"Then I suppose there's no treason now in shaking hands over so
old a story, Neil?" I said, extending my hand, which he grasped
heartily, and relations were established between us.

He then turned to the priest. "Your name, your reverence?"

"Le pere Jean, missionary."

"Well, gentlemen, it cannot be helped. You must both follow us into
the town."

He gave his orders briefly, and blowing out the lanthorn, took
Margaret by the arm, supporting her as one might a wounded man,
and so we set off. It was evident the quick-witted sergeant possessed
that invaluable qualification of the successful soldier, the
readiness to carry out as well as to devise a plan; for in handling
the lanthorn he had never once allowed the light to fall on Margaret,
and by his happy pretence of her being wounded, he avoided the
awkward necessity of handing over the command to her as his superior.
That he would do his best to shelter her from any scrutiny or
questioning was evident, and I was too thankful for the result to
puzzle over the probable means by which it was attained. As like
as not, by the very simple expedient of telling the truth--a
wonderfully efficacious measure at times, when you know your man.

A quick, hard scramble brought us down to the level of the Palais;
we passed the Intendance, black and deserted, and so on towards
the foot of the Cote du Palais. When we reached the gate the
sergeant halted us; the sign and countersign were given, whereupon
the wicket was opened.

Passing his arm about Margaret, who leaned upon him heavily, the
sergeant skilfully interposed himself between her and the officer
in charge, and gave his report: "Neil Murray, sergeant, 78th, six
men, two prisoners, and one of our own, wounded," and on we marched
up the slippery hill without a moment's unnecessary delay.

As soon as we we