“Well, sir, chancing to have a pistol handy, I let fly ... but though I’ll swear my bullet took it clean through the head ... it didn’t do no good, sir, not a bit—quite the re-verse, your honour; the thing got up and danced at me, sir ... aye, jigged it did—Lord!” “And then, Bob?” “Why, then, sir, I took to my heels and bolted, ah—a sight faster than Mr. S.” “Hum!” quoth Sir John. “I don’t think you should have fired, Bob.” “No, sir?” “No, you might have injured it! Besides, ghosts are supposed to be impervious to bullets, I believe. And the thing had horns, you say?” “Sir, I’ll lay my oath on its horns ... ah, and fiery horns at that! And there’s others have seen it too, before me.” “Who, Bob?” “Well, there’s Peter Bunkle for one, sir, as keeps ‘The Market Cross Inn’ over at Alfriston; there’s Mr. Levitt, and Tom Burgess and others besides.... There’s not a man of ’em dare stir out after dark.” “I wonder!” murmured Sir John musingly. “I wonder!” “You believe me, sir, I hope?” “Implicitly, Bob! I do but cast about for a reasonable explanation.” And here fell silence again save for the plodding hoof-strokes of their horses, and an occasional gusty sigh from the ex-corporal, who, it seemed, was also busied with his thoughts. It was after a somewhat louder sigh than usual that Sir John addressed him suddenly: “How old are ye, Bob?” “My age, sir,” answered Robert gloomily, “is forty-five, your honour.” “I remember you were a boy when you marched to the wars with my father and Sir Hector.” “Drummer in Sir Hector’s regiment, sir.” “And a corporal when he bought you out. You ha’ been with me a good many years now, Bob.” “Twenty-two, sir ... ever since you was a very small boy ... a lifetime! And during said time, your honour has treated me more like a ... a friend, sir, than a servant. Consequently I am to-day more your honour’s servant than ever. And I’m ... forty-five, sir!” “What o’ that, Bob? So were you months ago, but it didn’t seem to grieve you then.” “Why, d’ye see, sir, the years march on a man at the double, but he never heeds until one day he wakes up to find as he is ... forty-five!” “And her name is Ann!” quoth Sir John. Here, once again, the ex-corporal’s immutable calm was gravely threatened; he flushed from shaven chin to neat wig, he blinked and swallowed hard, but when he answered his voice was as steady and unemotional as ever: “Cor-rect, sir!” “I’m monstrous glad to hear it, Bob. She hath a slender ankle, a low voice, and is, I hazard, as good as she looks! ’Tis high time you thought o’ marrying.” At this the ex-corporal stared hard at his horse’s ears, from these to the hedges, right and left; finally he spoke: “Saving your presence, sir, ’tis not to be thought of—not for a moment, your honour. Said young person being scarce turned of twenty years and consequently out o’ the question——” “Have you mentioned the question to her, Bob?”