“I remember, ladies, the words he used, though not the tone of them.  To tell the truth, though my ears received ’em, I was not listening.  I stood there, wishing myself a hundred miles away; but his manner gave me no chance to fob him off with an excuse, or pretend I had dropped in for a passing call.  There was nothing for it but to out with my story, and into it I plunged somehow, my tongue stammering with shame.  He listened, to be sure, but without offering to help me over the hard places.  Indeed, at the first mention of my poverty, I saw all his first suspicions—­whatever they had been—­return and show themselves in his blind eyes.  His mouth was set like a closed trap.  Yet he heard me out, and, when I had done, his suspicions seemed to have faded again, for he answered me considerately enough, though not cordially.

“‘Captain Branscome,’ he said, ’I may tell you at once that I never lend money; and my reason is partly that good seldom comes of it, and partly that I am a poor man—­if you can call a man poor who is by a few pounds richer than his needs.  But I have a great respect for you’—­the ladies will forgive me for repeating his exact words—­’and your voice seems to tell me that you still deserve it; that you have suffered more than you say before being driven to make this appeal.  I can do something—­though it be little—­to help an old comrade.  Will you oblige me by stepping into the summer-house here, and taking a seat while I go to the house?  I will not keep you waiting more than a few minutes.’

“He picked up his walking-stick, which rested against a chair, just within the doorway, and stood for a moment while I stepped past him and entered the summer-house; and so, with a nod of the head, turned and walked towards the house, using his stick very skilfully to feel his path between the bushes, and still keeping the flag tucked under his left arm.

“So I sat and waited, ladies, on no good terms with myself.  The way of the borrower was hard, I found, and the harder because the Major’s manner had not been unkindly, but—­if you’ll understand my meaning—­ only just kindly enough.  In short, I don’t know but that I must have out and run rather than endure his charity, had not my thoughts been distracted by this mystery over Captain Coffin.  For the Major had said too much, and yet not enough.  The man I had seen crossing the lane was certainly Coffin, but to connect him with Minden Cottage I had no clue at all beyond the faint one, Harry, that you and he were acquaintances.  Besides, I had seen him, the morning before, in the crowd around the prisoners, and could have sworn he was then—­saving your presence, ladies—­as drunk as a fiddler.  If vehicle had brought him, it could not be any that had passed me on the road, or for certain I should have recognized him.  Well, here was a riddle, and I had come no nearer to guessing it when the Major returned.

“He had left his bundle in the house, and in place of it he carried a cashbox, which he set on the table between us, but did not at once open.  Instead, he turned to me with a complete change of manner, and held out his hand very frankly.