"You said that I should be there,--with that pale shadow in its shroud. Very well; only that I be given employment and live to see at least one battle, I care not whether I meet my weird in its winding-sheet. Because any man of spirit, and not a mouse, had rather meet his end that way than sink into dissolution in aged and toothless idleness." "If you were not a very young and untried soldier," said she, "you would not permit impatience to ravage you and sour you as it does. And for me, too, it saddens and spoils our last few days together." "Our last few days? You speak with a certainty--an authority----" "I know the summons is coming very soon." "If I could but believe in your Scottish second-sight----" "Would you be happy?" "Happy! I should deem myself the most fortunate man on earth!--if I could believe your Scottish prophecy!" She came nearer, and her eyes seemed depthless dusky in her pale face. "If that is all you require for happiness, John Drogue," said she in her low, still voice, "then you may take your pleasure of it. I tell you I _know_! And we have but few hours left together, you and I." Spite of common sense and disbelief in superstitions I could not remain entirely unconcerned before such perfect sincerity, though that she believed in her own strange gift could scarcely convince me. "Come," said I smilingly, "it may be so. At all events, you cheer me, Penelope, and your kindness heartens me.... Forgive my sullen temper;--it is hard for a man to think himself ignored and perhaps despised. And my ears ache with listening for that same gentle tapping upon my door." "I hear it now," she said under her breath. "I hear nothing." "Alas, no! Yet, that soft-footed maid is knocking on your door.... If only you had heart to hear." "One does not hear with one's heart," said I, smiling, and stirred to plague her for her mixed metaphor. "I do," said she, faintly. After a little silence she turned to go; and I followed, scarce knowing why; and took her hand in the doorway. "Little prophetess," said I, "who promises me what my heart desires, will you touch your lips to mine as a pledge that your prophecy shall come true?" She looked back over her shoulder, and remained so, her cheek on her right shoulder. "Your heart desires a battle, John Drogue; your idle vanity my lips.... But you may possess them if you will." "I do love you dearly, Penelope Grant." She said with a breathless little smile: "Would you love me better if my prophecy came true this very night?" But I was troubled at that, and had no mind to sound those unventured deeps which, at such moments, I could feel vaguely astir within me. Nor yet did I seriously consider what I truly desired of this slender maid within the circle of my arms, nor what was to come of such sudden encounters with their swift smile and oddly halting breath and the heart, surprised, rhyming rapidly and unevenly in a reckless measure which pleasured less than it embarrassed.