He shook his head with a loud laugh. 'If I'd got to remember half their names, my fine fellow, I'd need to have a good memory. Move on, will you?' Walking on beside him I managed to tell him hurriedly, what we had heard of Cuthbert. 'Was there a chance of his ever coming back?' 'Why not?' he answered, in his careless, jolly voice. 'I don't know why he shouldn't. We're not all killed, you see, that go for soldiers. Ah! it's a fine life, my lads,'--this to the two boys who were still following him. 'No life like it,' and so on. Those lightly-spoken words of his, the only ones of encouragement I had ever heard, fell upon me like a blow, and struck me speechless. 'Then you think that he may be living yet,' I asked again, presently. 'You there still!' He looked back good-humouredly. 'Well, there's no knowing. I can't say.' 'He was reported missing.' 'Ah! reported missing, that sounds bad. Still, I've known stranger things come round. Where was he killed, say you?' 'At the battle of Conjeveram, I think they called the place.' 'Conjeveram--seems to me I've heard a talk of prisoners taken there, but the outlandish Indian names are all alike. It's a chance, I tell you. Now, then.' He had no more time for me. I went home with a beating heart, to tell Hildred. She was sitting in the honeysuckle-shaded porch of Clifford's house, spinning. The bees hummed in the sunshine, the waterfall splashed, Clifford's children were shouting at the river's edge, and Hildred was singing a low murmur of song that blended with the whirr of her wheel and the buzzing of the bees. 'Hildred,' I said, going up to her, 'I have seen Cuthbert's recruiting sergeant, and he thinks he may be alive.' Hildred started, her hand fell, and the thread broke. 'He does not see why he should not come home some day,' I went on. She got up, very pale. 'Cuthbert alive!' she said, dreamily. 'Where is he?' 'Oh Hildred, I don't know; I only said he might be living still.' 'Didn't you say he was coming?' 'No, no, it might be just possible.' Hildred burst out crying. 'What's all this?' said Martha Clifford, coming up with a pail of water on her head. 'What's Hildred crying for?' 'I gave her a fright,' I answered repentantly, and I told Martha what I had heard and said. 'Dear me, Willie, leave the girl alone, do,' said Martha roughly. 'Don't begin all that over again. We had enough of it before we knew he was killed; watching and worrying, worrying and watching, from morning till night. Let bygones be bygones.' 'But I can't forget----' 'Well, others can if you can't. Let the dead rest, Willie Lisle.' 'If we could be quite sure----' 'And so you ought to be. It's all a whimsey you've got into your head. Cuthbert's dead enough, poor lad, but it's my belief you wouldn't be satisfied if you had seen him buried down yonder with your own eyes.' 'Don't, Martha,' said Hildred, brushing away her tears and coming to my side.