It was evident to Sergeant-Major Ward that Mr. Farrer was not there, and that no useful purpose could be served by remaining.  It was clear that the young man’s courage had failed him, and, with grey head erect, elbows working like the sails of a windmill, and the ends of the nightgown streaming behind him, the sergeant-major bent his steps towards home.

He dropped into a walk after a time and looked carefully over his shoulder.  So far as he could see he was alone, but the silence and loneliness were oppressive.  He looked again, and, without stopping to inquire whether his eyes had deceived him, broke into a run again.  Alternately walking and running, he got back to the town, and walked swiftly along the streets to his house.  Police-Constable Burgess, who was approaching from the other direction, reached it at almost the same moment, and, turning on his lantern, stood gaping with astonishment.  “Anything wrong?” he demanded.

“Wrong?” panted the sergeant-major, trying to put a little surprise and dignity into his voice.  “No.”

“I thought it was a lady walking in her sleep at first,” said the constable.  “A tall lady.”

The sergeant-major suddenly became conscious of the nightgown.  “I’ve been—­for a little walk,” he said, still breathing hard.  “I felt a bit chilly—­so I—­put this on.”

“Suits you, too,” said the constable, stiffly.  “But you Army men always was a bit dressy.  Now if I put that on I should look ridikerlous.”

The door opened before Mr. Ward could reply, and revealed, in the light of a bedroom candle, the astonished countenances of his wife and daughter.

“George!” exclaimed Mrs. Ward.

“Father!” said Miss Ward.

The sergeant-major tottered in and, gaining the front room, flung himself into his arm-chair.  A stiff glass of whisky and water, handed him by his daughter, was swallowed at a gulp.

“Did you go?” inquired Mrs. Ward, clasping her hands.

The sergeant-major, fully conscious of the suspicions aroused by his disordered appearance, rallied his faculties.  “Not likely,” he said, with a short laugh.  “After I got outside I knew it was no good going there to look for that young snippet.  He’d no more think of going there than he would of flying.  I walked a little way down the road—­for exercise—­and then strolled back.”

“But—­my nightgown?” said the wondering Mrs. Ward.

“Put it on to frighten the constable,” said her husband.

He stood up and allowed her to help him pull it off.  His face was flushed and his hair tousled, but the bright fierceness of his eye was unquenched.  In submissive silence she followed him to bed.

He was up late next morning, and made but a poor breakfast.  His after-dinner nap was disturbed, and tea was over before he had regained his wonted calm.  An hour later the arrival of a dignified and reproachful Mr. Farrer set him blazing again.