The cornet stood aside from the gate, and confessed himself at Jeffray’s service. He was one of those men who never quarrel by inclination, and was indeed the very creature Jeffray needed, lazy, good-tempered, eager for popularity, a man tinged with a sentimental devotion towards women, a devotion that bowed down before a dimpled chin, and capitulated smilingly to a pair of mischievous eyes. “I am at your service, sir,” he said, bowing. Jeffray took the soldier at his word, and, with an air of unpremeditated abstraction, marched him straight for Dan Grimshaw’s body. The exquisite son of Mars started at the sight of the contorted face shining a dead white from the grass. He touched the body a little contemptuously with his foot, sniffed, and shrugged his padded shoulders. “Another poor devil shot,” he said. Jeffray bent over the body as though it were new and strange to him. “Hit in the chest,” he said, reflectively. “Your men were firing pretty briskly into the mob.” “They fired on us first, sir,” quoth the cornet, as though moved to justify his orders. “I don’t doubt it. Some of your shots came into the cottage where I was cornered with the girl whose life I was trying to save.” With much parade of mystery Jeffray unfolded to the sentimental youth as much of the past as suited the occasion. He told how he had come to be blockaded in the cottage, and confessed that he had been compelled to fire on the smuggling folk in self-defence. Concerning Dan’s death he was discreetly silent, nor did he divulge the fact that Bess had helped him to hold the cottage. The cornet listened with the most serious and sympathetic attention, stroking the silver facings of his coat, and never so much as dreaming to wink at Jeffray. “I am not astonished, sir,” he said, at the end thereof, “that the lady should be a little shaken after such adventures.” “Your sympathy does you credit,” returned Jeffray, with a bow. “May I ask what is to be done with the lady?” “I desire to disentangle her from such painful surroundings, and place her under my housekeeper’s care at Rodenham.” The cornet looked sadly at Jeffray, as though taking him for a very eccentric person or a most human and devoted fool. Being an amiable and sentimental creature, and not given to legal methods of reflection, he showed himself very ready to assist Jeffray with the true courtesy of a cavalier. “Shall I lend you two troopers and a guide,” he said, “to convey you to Rodenham? Is the lady fit to travel?” Jeffray accepted the suggestion. “I thank you for your courtesy,” he said; “the ride will take the girl away from her own thoughts. I shall be very grateful to you if you will make inquiries as to her husband—Daniel Grimshaw, and the old man, Isaac. If you discover any facts bearing upon the mystery of the girl’s past I shall be eager to receive them. My own mare is tethered in the woods. One of the pack-horses would carry the lady.”