Once or twice in his travels with the Major he had been haunted by an uncomfortable suspicion that this or that contribution that the warrior made to their common table had not been come by honestly.  When a gentleman, known to possess no more than tenpence, and with a predilection to drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse; let us say, at seven o’clock, and reappears, rather breathless, forty minutes later with a newly-plucked fowl—­or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and still warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, issues out again later in the evening and returns with a strong smell of spirits and a watery eye—­it seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been scrupulously honest.  In cases of this kind Frank persevered in making some excuse for not joining in the festivity:  he put it to himself as being a matter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was simply that in a young man who made no scruple of begging in cases of necessity.  However, there it was, and even the Major, who began by protesting, ended by acquiescing.

* * * * *

They were somewhere in the neighborhood of Market Weighton when the thing happened—­I cannot identify the exact spot.  The situation was as follows: 

They had secured an excellent barn for their night’s lodging—­facing on the road on the outskirts of a village.  Behind them were, the farm buildings, and the farmer’s household gone to bed.  The sun had set and it was dark.  They had supped sparingly, of necessity, and had finished every morsel of food. (Frank had even found himself mechanically gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) They had had a bad week of it; the corn was not yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work anywhere for honest men.  The Major’s gloom had become terrible; he had even made remarks upon a choice between a workhouse and a razor.  He had got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets inside out to secure the last possible grains of tobacco, and had smoked about a quarter of a pipeful gathered in this way without uttering one word.  He had then uttered a short string of them, had seized his cap and disappeared.

Frank, too, was even more heavy and depressed than usual.  The last shreds of romance were gone from his adventure long ago, and yet his obstinacy held firm.  But he found he could not talk much.  He watched Gertie listlessly as she, listless too, began to spread out nondescript garments to make a bed in the corner.  He hardly spoke to her, nor she to him.

He was beginning to feel sleepy, when he heard rather hurried steps, as of one trying to run on tiptoe, coming up the lane, and an instant later in popped the Major.

“Put out that damned light!” he whispered sharply.

The candle end went out with the swiftness of thought.

“What’s up?” Frank roused himself to ask.  There had been a strenuous look about the face seen an instant before that interested him.