{Kate.} _(leans over back of arm-chair--listening)_ Poor little bird, singing of her soldier lover. How am I to tell her that her soldier's heart is not of so bright a colour as his jacket? How can I tell her, when there is another soldier lover in the world so good and so true? _(sits R., of table--she opens her locket; it contains a likeness of Eric)_ Eric! Ah! the man who painted this miniature hasn't done Eric justice; the face is too white and pink, and the moustache isn't at all the right shade. I know I could catch the exact tone of Eric's moustache if I were a painter. It's a kind of browny, yellowy, red-tinted, a sad auburn, with a sea-weedy wash about it. Under the nose it suggests one of our daybreak skies, and there, where the ends droop, a sunset of Turner's. Dear old Eric! _(kisses locket)_ _(There is a knock at the door L.,; Kate hastily closes the locket and glances at clock.)_ It's late! _(aloud)_ Who is it? _(The door opens, L., and Christiana enters, knitting stocking.)_ {Chris.} Gilbert Hythe and Gunnion, with a box of clothes for the girl, _(down by settee L.)_ _(Gilbert and Gunnion enter--Gil. carrying a very diminutive wooden trunk; he places the box down L. C., and doffs his hat. Gil. still has his gun with him; he goes up to bureau.)_ {Gun.} Good-night to you, Squire. Gilbert Hythe's been so kind as to lend me a hand with this blessed box. _(pointing to box)_ My child's wardrobe, Squire, scraped together by the sweat of my brow. {Kate.} Sit down, Gilbert. _(Gilbert puts his gun down L., of bureau and gets to R., of it, standing)_ Take Felicity's wardrobe upstairs into Felicity's room, Mr. Gunnion. _(Gun. goes to take box--Chris. down L.)_ {Chris.} Excuse me, Squire, but before Gunnion goes I should like you to make note of the ale _(Gun. drops box)_ that's been drawn from the new cask. The ale was in my keeping and it's due to me for you to know of the loss. {Gun.} _(on his knees--to Chris.)_ Drat you for a mischievous hussy! Why, your own flesh and blood helped me to drive the tap in with a mallet, and drank double what I did. {Chris.} More shame for an old man to lead a poor boy astray! {Kate.} _(shaking her finger at Gun.)_ Oh! Mr. Gunnion, how could you! {Gun.} _(rises--gets nearer table)_ Well, Squire, it's not a thing I've done afore, and it's not a thing I'm like to do again. {Kate.} Come, come, that's all right. {Gun.} And I've paid the penalty precious dear. I've had my yead under the pump from four o'clock till past sunset, and wettin' my yead is a thing I dursn't do. {Kate.} Oh, dear! {Gun.} As for the drop o' drink, I was druv to it by grief. {Kate.} By grief?