home, for he said that the country had need of every one then, more
particularly such a one as James.

Time went on, and he came back to them from Corunna, and spending
little more than a month at home, he started away once more; and next
they heard of him at Busaco, wounded and promoted. Then they followed
him in their hearts along the path of glory, from Talavera by Albuera
and Vittoria, across the Pyrenees. And while they were yet reading a
long-delayed letter, written from Toulouse at midnight--after having
been to the theatre with Lord Wellington, wearing a white cockade--he
broke in on them again, to tell them the war was well-nigh over, and
that he would soon come and live with them in peace.

Then what delightful reunions were there in the old gallery window,
going over all the weary campaigns once more; pleasant rambles, too,
down by the river-side in the sweet May evenings, old Marmaduke and
the curate discreetly walking in front, and James and Agnes loitering
far behind. And in the succeeding winter after they were married, what
pleasant rides had they to meet the hounds, and merry evenings before
the bright wood-fire in the hall. Never were four people more happy
than they. The war was done, the disturber was confined, and peace had
settled down upon the earth.

Peace, yes. But not for long. Spring came on, and with it strange
disquieting rumours, growing more certain day by day, till the
terrible news broke on them that the faithless tyrant had broke loose
again, and that all Europe was to be bathed in blood once more by his
insane ambition.

James had sold out of the army, so that when Agnes first heard the