"I was knocked all of a heap at meeting her like that, Seth. But when I got my wits back I did the only thing I could. I took her to a lady friend who had been very kind to me, and she promised to look after her. And I am quite sure she will. If Kattie only stops with her I think she may be very comfortable there." "It were good o' yo'. . . ." And then, reverting to Jim's former question, "I know him," he said hoarsely, "an' when th' chance comes----" And the big brown hands clenched as though a man's throat were between them. And Jim thought he would not like to be that man. "I'm afraid I feel like that too, Seth, though I suppose--I don't know. Poor little Kattie!" And presently he wrung the big brown hands, that were meant for better work than wringing evil throats, and swung up on to his horse. "I must get along, Seth. But I'm often through here, and we'll be meeting again. We're about two miles out over yonder, you know. Good-bye!" And he galloped off to his quarters. He frequently rode across of a night for a chat with Jack, but Jack was a mighty busy man these days, and nights too. He had an inordinate craving for trenches and gabions and facines and parallels and approaches, and could talk of little else, and confessed that he dreamed of them too. And if he could have accomplished as much by day as he did by night, when he was fast asleep--though as a matter of fact it ought to be the other way, for most of the actual work had to be done under cover of darkness and he slept when he could--Sebastopol would have been taken in a week. As the trenches began to develop, he would take Jim through them for a treat, and explain all that was going on with the greatest gusto. And at times Jim found it no easy matter to conceal the fact that it was all exceedingly raw and dirty, though he supposed it was the only way of getting at them. And at times shot and shell would come plunging in over the sand-bags and gabions, and then every man would fling himself on his face in the dirt till the flying splinters had gone, and Jim would go home and try to brush himself clean--for Joyce had died of cholera two days out from Varna--and would thank his stars that he belonged to a cleaner branch of the service. Still, it was fine to watch the shells come curving out from the town with a flash like summer lightning, and hear them singing through the darkness, and see the fainter glare of their explosion; and when he had nothing else on hand he went along to the trenches almost every night to watch the fireworks. CHAPTER L RED-TAPE The siege of Sebastopol was quite out of the ordinary run, and about as curious a business as ever was. For one usually thinks of a besieged town as surrounded by the enemy and cut off from the rest of the world. And, that was never the case with Sebastopol.