He was a tall, lean man, this uncle of mine, with moustache twisted to a needle-point above a mouth which never opened needlessly. His eyes, too, I remember--few cared to meet them at any time, none when he was enwrathed. A dozen blackguards, who lived somewhere near by--God knows where!--called him master and would have joyfully gone to hell for him. Sometimes they would gather at the house at nightfall, my uncle would kiss his wife and stamp out to his horse. I, looking big-eyed from one corner of the little window in my bed-room, would see him fling himself into the saddle and spur away, the others falling naturally in behind. It was enough to make one tremble, and if I ventured down the ladder into the room where my aunt and mother were--pretending I wanted a drink or some such thing--I would find them in tears, and my mother would look at me sorrowfully and draw me tenderly to her and weep over me, as though some dreadful fate threatened me. The days that followed, they would spend in horrible suspense, and how they would welcome him when he came riding home again! I understood nothing of all this, but my sister did. For it was at this time she came home from the convent at Aignan, where the good sisters had been caring for her. She had been sent there, a mere baby, at the time my mother was expecting me, and she had been kept there since, we being too poor to feed another mouth, and the good sisters hoping that she would in the end enter the cloister. But when the time came, she found herself lacking in courage or devotion--I do not know, for this is one of the things about her I never quite understood--and so she was sent home again. At least, here she was, tall and fair and dark-eyed, and we were all a little afraid of her until we found how warm and tender her heart was. Yes, and brave, too,--how could I have said she lacked courage?--as I was presently to find out for myself. It was one evening in early June. As the twilight deepened along the river, I heard far off the tramp of horses and knew that another journey was afoot. I went to the door to see them dash up along the road, and very fine and brave they looked to me. They pulled full-stop at the door, harness clanking, sword rattling against thigh, and my uncle, who was at table, hastily swallowed the last of his meat, and rose to don sword and headgear. I, who was still gaping out the door, heard the sound of my sister’s voice. “Where do you go, uncle?” she asked. He was girding on his sword, and paused an instant to look at her in sheer amazement. Then he turned away without answering. “If it be upon a Godless errand you go, as I suspect,” she went, on, quite calm and steady, “I pray you to think of your soul. What of it?” My faith, but I was trembling for her and the women staring open-mouthed!