"I say," said the corporal, taking the papers--"what's your name?"

"Gellatly--Sergeant Gellatly."

"Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn't accordin' to Hoyle--come in the night
and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear at the
Gover'ment. Why, you're comin' in, aren't you? You're comin' across the
door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin' ready,
aren't you, Sergeant--Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I've heard
of you, but--yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to Inspector Jules!
If you won't step in and won't drink and will be unsociable, sergeant,
why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the one you've
brought. I'm Corporal Galna."

Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was no
lantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal to
study the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. The risk
was considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spirit of self-
sacrifice which has held a world rocking to destruction on a balancing
point of safety.

The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While she
was mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light his pipe.
He held it up for a moment as though to see the face of Sergeant
Gellatly. Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and a
touch of the spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as could
be seen above the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. Enough
was seen, however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna's good-
night, the exclamation," Well, I'm blowed!"