This was a long speech for Johnnie to make, and he watched narrowly its effect upon the young officer. This was soon apparent, for he said at once, "You have done well to tell me of this, and I'll see to it that none of my men cause any annoyance to the ladies." He fell so neatly into the trap that Johnnie Strings could scarcely keep from laughing outright; but all he said was--and very meekly: "Ye be most kind, sir, an' I'll tell Mistress Dorothy what ye say. An' I'll tell her as well that your head be none the worse for its thumpin' on the rocks." With this he backed toward the door. "No, no," said Southorn, "my head is all right. But come back, won't you,--come and have something to drink before you go?" And he pounded vigorously on the table. But Johnnie declined, with many thanks, asserting that he never drank anything,--a statement fully in accord with his fictitious story concerning the Devereux household. But he reckoned upon having accomplished his purpose, and so bowed himself out, just as a red-faced orderly appeared in response to his officer's summons. "Never mind, Kief," said the latter, as the soldier stood stiffly in the doorway awaiting his orders. "I don't need you now." Then, as the man saluted and turned to go, he asked, "Who is that fellow who just left? Do you know?" "Johnnie Strings, sir, the pedler; 'most everybody knows 'im 'twixt Boston town and Gloucester." "Ah, yes, I've heard of him before. That is all, Kief; you may go." As soon as he was alone, Kyrle Southorn, Cornet in His Majesty's Dragoons, bethought himself of how strangely lacking he had been in proper dignity during his brief interview with this humble pedler; and a feeling of sharp anger beset him for a moment as he took himself to task for his unofficerlike demeanor and manner of speech. Then came a mental picture of the distracting face he had seen that same morning; he seemed to be looking once more into the girl's eyes, and feeling the soft touch of her little hands about his head. He recalled all this, and gave utterance to a queer, short laugh, as though in the effort to excuse his folly. "Either that girl has bewitched me," he muttered, lying back in his chair, "or else the cut in my head has been making me addlepated all day." And he let his gaze wander out through the window, where the dusk was coming fast, blotting out the fort and town like a dark veil, pierced here and there by the dimly twinkling lights showing from the houses. "I wonder if she sent the fellow?" his thoughts ran on. "She told me she was sorry for my being hurt, and she looked it. But the other--the fair one--she was a tartar." And he laughed again at the recollection of Mary Broughton's angry blue eyes and dauntless bearing.