"Never mind, old mate, I was wrong to argify, and so we are quits there. For it stands to reason," continued the corporal, "that when a man is poorly, he is not in a condition for fighting." "Still, it was the bad manners to be calling any one a liar," returned Sergeant McGill. "But a Highlander's temper is not always under control. So I ask your pardon, Marks, but it was three Sepoys that I killed with my own hand, and I had the third by the throat." "Dear Sergeant," interposed Waveney, softly, "Corporal Marks quite understands all that; and what does it matter?--a little difference between two old friends!" Then a strangely sweet smile lighted up the wrinkled old face. "It is the voice of Sheila. And what will she be saying again and again: 'Blessed are the peace-makers'--and they are grand words." "Shall I read to you a little?" asked the girl, timidly. Then the corporal took down an old brown Testament from the shelf, and Waveney read slowly and reverently, passage after passage, until the heavy breathing told her that McGill was asleep. Then she closed the book and went out into the corridor. "He is very ill," she said, sorrowfully; "so feeble and so unlike himself." But the corporal refuted this stoutly. "McGill is but poorly," he returned, so gruffly that Waveney did not venture to say more. "When he has taken a bottle or two of the doctor's stuff, he will pick up a bit; he sleeps badly, and that makes him drowsy and confused," and then he saluted, and stumped back to his comrade. Waveney heard a different story downstairs. "Have you seen McGill?" two or three said to her. "The poor chap, he is breaking fast. The corporal won't believe it, but it is plain as a pike-staff;" and so on. "Mollie, dear," observed Waveney, sadly, "I have such bad news to tell you: dear old Sergeant McGill is very ill, and I fear he is going to die; and what will the corporal do without him? And it is so strange;" she went on, "he thinks he is a lad again, in his Highland home, and that his sweetheart Sheila is coming to meet him. He calls her the lass of his heart, and it is all so poetical and beautiful;" and Waveney's voice was so full of pathos that Mollie's eyes filled with sympathetic tears. CHAPTER XI. "A NOTICEABLE MAN, WITH LARGE GREY EYES." "As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low." WORDSWORTH. After all, Mollie had her way, and Waveney, in spite of piteous pleading and remonstrance, became the reluctant possessor of a warm dress and jacket. Mr. Ward had put his foot down in a most unexpected manner; if Waveney would not buy her jacket he would go without his great-coat; Barker and Chandler had been paid, and there was sufficient money for everything. And when Waveney understood that any shabbiness on her part would be grievous in his eyes, she yielded at once.