careful Mr. Travers--the boat-swain heaved a sigh of relief, and handing
it over to him, leaned back with a complacent air while he read it.

"Seems all right," said the soldier, folding it up and putting it in his
waistcoat-pocket. "I'll be here at eleven to-night."

"Eleven it is," said the boatswain, briskly, "and, between pals--here's
arf a dollar to go on with."

He patted him on the shoulder again, and with a caution to keep out of
sight as much as possible till night walked slowly home. His step was
light, but he carried a face in which care and exultation were strangely
mingled.

By ten o'clock that night care was in the ascendant, and by eleven, when
he discerned the red glow of Mr. Travers's pipe set as a beacon against a
dark background of hedge, the boatswain was ready to curse his inventive
powers. Mr. Travers greeted him cheerily and, honestly attributing the
fact to good food and a couple of pints of beer he had had since the
boatswain left him, said that he was ready for anything.

Mr. Benn grunted and led the way in silence. There was no moon, but the
night was clear, and Mr. Travers, after one or two light-hearted attempts
at conversation, abandoned the effort and fell to whistling softly
instead.

Except for one lighted window the village slept in darkness, but the
boatswain, who had been walking with the stealth of a Red Indian on the
war-path, breathed more freely after they had left it behind. A renewal
of his antics a little farther on apprised Mr. Travers that they were