“Don’t, William!”

Such passionate entreaty vibrated in her voice that William, who was advancing, stopped for a second to stare.  Then, with a laugh, he had caught and kissed her loudly.

Her cheeks were flaming when she broke free.

William turned, emptied his glass at a gulp, and began to mix a second.

“There, there; you never look so well as when you’re angered, ’Lizabeth.”

“’Twas a coward’s trick,” she panted.

“Christmas-time, you spitfire.  So you ain’t married yet?  Lord!  I don’t wonder they fight shy of you; you’d be a handful, my vixen, for any man to tame.  How’s the old man?”

“He’ll never be better.”

“Like enough at his age.  Is he hard set against me?”

“We’ve never spoke of you for years now, till to-night.”

“To-night?  That’s queer.  I’ve a mind to tip up a stave to let him know I’m about.  I will, too.  Let me see—­”

    “When Johnny comes marching home again,
                Hooray!  Hoo—­”

“Don’t, don’t!  Oh, why did you come back to-night, of all nights?”

“And why the devil not to-night so well as any other?  You’re a comfortable lot, I must say!  Maybe you’d like common metre better:—­

    “Within my fathers house
      The blessed sit at meat. 
    Whilst I my belly stay
      With husks the swine did eat.”

—­“Why shouldn’t I wake the old man?  I’ve done naught that I’m ashamed of.”

“It don’t seem you’re improved by soldiering.”

“Improved?  I’ve seen life.”  William drained his glass.

“An’ got degraded.”

“Burn your tongue!  I’m going to see him.”  He rose and made towards the door.  ’Lizabeth stepped before him.

“Hush!  You mustn’t.”

“‘Mustn’t?’ That’s a bold word.”

“Well, then—­’can’t.’  Sit down, I tell you.”

“Hullo!  Ain’t you coming the mistress pretty free in this house? 
Stand aside.  I’ve got something to tell him—­something that won’t wait. 
Stand aside, you she-cat!”

He pushed by her roughly, but she held on to his sleeve.

“It must wait.  Listen to me.”

“I won’t.”

“You shall.  He’s dead.”

“Dead!” He reeled back to the table and poured out another glassful with a shaking hand.  ’Lizabeth noticed that this time he added no water.

“He died to-night,” she explained; “but he’s been ailin’ for a year past, an’ took to his bed back in October.”

William’s face was still pallid; but he merely stammered—­

“Things happen queerly.  I’ll go up and see him; I’m master here now.  You can’t say aught to that.  By the Lord! but I can buy myself out—­I’m sick of soldiering—­and we’ll settle down here and be comfortable.”

“We?”

His foot was on the stair by this time.  He turned and nodded.