“As to other matters, I have but little to arrange.  I have made a will, so that I shall have nothing to trouble me on that score.  Tranton came over with it this morning from Stroud, and I signed it.”

“That is right, lad; we all hope most sincerely that there will be no occasion for its provisions to be carried out, but it is always best that a man should get these things off his mind.  Are you going to say goodbye to us tonight?”

“I shall do it as a precautionary measure, Sir John, but I expect that when I get the summons I shall have time to drive over here.  My horse will do the distance in five and twenty minutes, and unless a telegram comes within an hour of the night mail passing through Stroud, I shall be able to manage it.  I saw everything packed up before I left, and my man will see that everything, except the portmanteau with the things I shall want on the voyage, goes on with the regimental baggage.”

A quarter of an hour later Captain Mallett mounted his dog cart and drove home.  The next morning he received a letter from the Adjutant, saying that he expected the order some time during the next day.

“We are to embark at Plymouth, and I had a telegram this morning saying that the transport had arrived and had taken her coal on board.  Of course they will get the news at the War Office today, and will probably wire at once.  I think we shall most likely leave here by a train early the next morning.  I shall, of course, telegraph as soon as the order comes, but as I know that you have everything ready, you will be in plenty of time if you come on by the night mail.”

At eleven o’clock a mounted messenger from Stroud brought on the telegram: 

“We entrain at six tomorrow morning.  Join immediately.”

This was but a formal notification, and he resolved to go on by the night mail.  He spent the day in driving round the estate and saying goodbye to his tenants.  He lunched at the house of one of the leading farmers, where as a boy he had been always made heartily welcome.  Before mounting his dog cart, he stood for a few minutes chatting with Martha, his host’s pretty daughter.

“You are not looking yourself, Martha,” he said.  “You must pick up your roses again before I come back.  I shall leave the army then, and give a big dinner to my tenants, with a dance afterwards, and I shall open the ball with you, and expect you to look your best.

“Who is this?” he asked, as a young fellow came round the corner of the house, and on seeing them, turned abruptly, and walked off.

“It is George Lechmere, is it not?”

A flash of colour came into the girl’s face.

“Ah, I see,” he laughed; “he thought I was flirting with you, and has gone off jealous.  Well, you will have no difficulty in making your peace with him tomorrow.

“Goodbye, child, I must be going.  I have a long round to make.”

He jumped into the dog cart and drove away, while the girl went quietly back into the house.