Free."

She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and
loving a ne'er-do-weel, and she said: "I do not understand that."

And the Sergeant replied: "'Free among the Dead like unto them that are
wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.'"

But Mab said again: "I do not understand that either."

The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gave a
short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was
mounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an English
nobleman, one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one related
to a celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, then
turned to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: "No,
I suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor from Pretty
Pierre and his gang. Good-bye."

Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company looked
back to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. Private
Gellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: "Devils
bestir me, what a widdy she'll make!" It was understood that Aleck
Windsor and Mab Humphrey were to be married on the coming New Year's Day.
What connection was there between the words of Sergeant Fones and those
of Private Gellatly? None, perhaps.

Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, and
saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who was
outside, offered to put up the Sergeant's horse; but he said: "No, if