Judith.  I’m sure it’s slow this evening.  I’m so glad you’re back.

Anderson (taking her more closely in his arms).  Anxious, my dear?

Judith.  A little.

Anderson.  Why, you’ve been crying.

Judith.  Only a little.  Never mind:  it’s all over now. (A bugle call is heard in the distance.  She starts in terror and retreats to the long seat, listening.) What’s that?

Anderson (following her tenderly to the seat and making her sit down with him).  Only King George, my dear.  He’s returning to barracks, or having his roll called, or getting ready for tea, or booting or saddling or something.  Soldiers don’t ring the bell or call over the banisters when they want anything:  they send a boy out with a bugle to disturb the whole town.

Judith.  Do you think there is really any danger?

Anderson.  Not the least in the world.

Judith.  You say that to comfort me, not because you believe it.

Anderson.  My dear:  in this world there is always danger for those who are afraid of it.  There’s a danger that the house will catch fire in the night; but we shan’t sleep any the less soundly for that.

Judith.  Yes, I know what you always say; and you’re quite right.  Oh, quite right:  I know it.  But—­I suppose I’m not brave:  that’s all.  My heart shrinks every time I think of the soldiers.

Anderson.  Never mind that, dear:  bravery is none the worse for costing a little pain.

Judith.  Yes, I suppose so. (Embracing him again.) Oh how brave you are, my dear! (With tears in her eyes.) Well, I’ll be brave too:  you shan’t be ashamed of your wife.

Anderson.  That’s right.  Now you make me happy.  Well, well! (He rises and goes cheerily to the fire to dry his shoes.) I called on Richard Dudgeon on my way back; but he wasn’t in.

Judith (rising in consternation).  You called on that man!

Anderson (reassuring her).  Oh, nothing happened, dearie.  He was out.

Judith (almost in tears, as if the visit were a personal humiliation to her).  But why did you go there?

Anderson (gravely).  Well, it is all the talk that Major Swindon is going to do what he did in Springtown—­make an example of some notorious rebel, as he calls us.  He pounced on Peter Dudgeon as the worst character there; and it is the general belief that he will pounce on Richard as the worst here.

Judith.  But Richard said—­

Anderson (goodhumoredly cutting her short).  Pooh!  Richard said!  He said what he thought would frighten you and frighten me, my dear.  He said what perhaps (God forgive him!) he would like to believe.  It’s a terrible thing to think of what death must mean for a man like that.  I felt that I must warn him.  I left a message for him.