“Ay, to be sure. They went to Ledbury, and near by Prince Rupert, as you know, made short work of them.” This was the sorry side of war, and Hilary, as she entered the great kitchen and saw the white face and bandaged head of Farmer Kendrick, and the dazed look of suffering in his eyes, felt sad at heart. She crossed the room to the chimney-corner and spoke to him, but he took no heed. “’Tis no use,” said the poor wife. “He’s been deaf as a post ever since, and dithered besides. He’ll never be fit for work any more, and what’s to become of us, God only knows, for the soldiers from Canon Frome have taken all our hay and corn, and every beast on the farm save the old lame horse. We’ve naught left but the geese and fowls.” “I will tell the Vicar of your trouble,” said Hilary. “Why did you not send to him?” “Well,” said Mrs. Kendrick, “we thought it best to hide the men-folk till the country is quieter. And they told me the Governor of Canon Frome was much at the Vicarage. It seems hard when the place has been ours for generations to have strangers making free with all our goods. I do hear folk say that ere long there’ll be a battle in these parts, and that Governor Massey be coming from Gloucester again.” Hilary went away with a grave face, not thinking so much of the future battle as of the unpleasant fact that Norton’s visits to the Vicarage were beginning to be commented on. She was grieved, too, that the poor wounded men had not had the comfort of a visit from her uncle. Norton at once noticed the change in her expression when she rejoined him. “You are troubled,” he said, gently, taking the basket from her. “The times are sad,” said she, evasively. “I wish this war were ended. I wish we were quite away from ever hearing of it any more.” “I wish,” he said, drawing nearer to her, “that I could spirit you right away to a country where all would be peace and sunshine. If I had the right to protect you, all should be as you would have it. Let us build castles in the air of a happy life in sunny France away from all these troubles.” She laughed at such a notion. “Why, I have never been farther than Bristol in all my life,” she said, lightly. “And the mere sight of the ships sailing away to foreign parts made me feel a craving to be at home again in Herefordshire.” “But Gloucestershire is a right homelike county,” said Norton, “and not far off. Do you understand how I love you, how I long to have you in my home there?” She shook her head. “I do not want to leave my uncle,” she said, feeling round for some excuse. “Well, well, but he cannot live for ever,” said Norton, impatiently. “It is in the natural order of things that you should leave him; and, spite of his white hair, he is but in middle life, and may yet himself marry.” “Then I should go back to Hereford, and try to grow like dear Mrs. Joyce Jefferies, who lives to make others happy.”