Burton maintained an easy silence as he moved beside me, and in this fashion, followed by Paton’s man who had fallen in at a sign from his master, we walked up the village street, threading the motley crowd of blacks and whites who thronged it. Soldiers, leaning against garden fences or lounging under the trees, saluted us as we passed. Sutlers’ carts went by in a long train. In an interval between two houses the drums were practicing. Here an awkward squad was at drill under a rough-tongued sergeant, whose cane was seldom idle, there a troop of the 14th Dragoons were drawn up awaiting their officer. A shower had fallen earlier in the day, but the sun had shone out and the lively scene, the white frame-houses, the bowering foliage around them, the bright uniforms, the movement, formed one of the cheerful interludes of war. In other eyes than mine. For my part I walked through it, execrating, bitterly execrating it all—the sunshine, the leaves just touched by autumn, the fleecy sky—all! And fate. The mockery of it and the irony of it, overcame me. Of what moment are the bright hues of the trap to the wild creature that is caught in it? However, lamentations must wait for another season. I had but a few moments, and I must act, not think. A very short walk brought us to Paton’s house in which he had secured for me the sole use of a tiny attic, the only room above stairs in what was but a small cottage. On the threshold I turned to him. “You will keep the door,” I said. “No one is to be allowed to go in or out, Paton, until you see me. You understand? Has your man his sidearms?” Paton looked askance at my companion. “I understand,” he said. “You may depend upon me, Major.” “Now, Mr. Burton,” I said. “I will follow you, if you please. I think that we can soon despatch this matter.” We went in. I pointed to the narrow staircase—it was little better than a ladder—and he went up before me. The room was a mere cock-loft lighted by a tiny square window on the level of my knee and looking to the rear. But it was private and we could just stand upright in the middle of the floor. I closed the door, and turned to him. CHAPTER IX THE COURT IS CLOSED _As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane The tane unto the tither say: ‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’_ _‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane And I’ll pick out his bonnie blue een, Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.’_ ANON. “We had better speak low, Mr. Burton,” I said. “I will be as short as I can. You know the position as well as I do, and that if I do my duty the result will be a long rope and a short shrift before night.”