was as a babe in his arms:  he hugged it like a mother.  He knew the military history of every regiment in the service.  Disasters even of old date brought groans from him.  This enthusiastic face was singularly soft when the large dark eyes were set musing.  The cast of it being such, sometimes in speaking of a happy play of artillery upon congregated masses, an odd effect was produced.  Ordinarily, the clear features were reflective almost to sadness, in the absence of animation; but an exulting energy for action would now and then light them up.  Hilarity of spirit did not belong to him.  He was, nevertheless, a cheerful talker, as could be seen in the glad ear given to him by Robert.  Between them it was “Robert” and “Percy.”  Robert had rescued him from drowning on the East Anglian shore, and the friendship which ensued was one chief reason for Robert’s quitting the post of trooper and buying himself out.  It was against Percy’s advice, who wanted to purchase a commission for him; but the humbler man had the sturdy scruples of his rank regarding money, and his romantic illusions being dispersed by an experience of the absolute class-distinctions in the service, Robert; that he might prevent his friend from violating them, made use of his aunt’s legacy to obtain release.  Since that date they had not met; but their friendship was fast.  Percy had recently paid a visit to Queen Anne’s Farm, where he had seen Rhoda and heard of Robert’s departure.  Knowing Robert’s birthplace, he had come on to Warbeach, and had seen Jonathan Eccles, who referred him to Mrs. Boulby, licenced seller of brandy, if he wished to enjoy an interview with Robert Eccles.

“The old man sent up regularly every day to inquire how his son was faring on the road to the next world,” said Robert, laughing.  “He’s tough old English oak.  I’m just to him what I appear at the time.  It’s better having him like that than one of your jerky fathers, who seem to belong to the stage of a theatre.  Everybody respects my old dad, and I can laugh at what he thinks of me.  I’ve only to let him know I’ve served an apprenticeship in farming, and can make use of some of his ideas—­sound! every one of ’em; every one of ’em sound!  And that I say of my own father.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Percy asked.

“I want to forget all about Kent and drown the county,” said Robert.  “And I’m going to, as far as my memory’s concerned.”

Percy waited for some seconds.  He comprehended perfectly this state of wilfulness in an uneducated sensitive man.

“She has a steadfast look in her face, Robert.  She doesn’t look as if she trifled.  I’ve really never seen a finer, franker girl in my life, if faces are to be trusted.”

“It’s t’ other way.  There’s no trifling in her case.  She’s frank.  She fires at you point blank.”

“You never mentioned her in your letters to me, Robert.”

“No.  I had a suspicion from the first I was going to be a fool about the girl.”