But a lady, walking in the road with an old gentleman, had seen and
recognised him. Her fingers clinched with anger at the sight, and her
spirit filled with disgust.
"What are you looking at?" said her companion, who was short-sighted.
"At the tricks moonlight plays. Shadows frighten me sometimes, my dear
avocat." She shuddered. "My dear madame!" he said in warm sympathy.
CHAPTER XII
The sun was going down behind the hills, like a drowsy boy to his bed,
radiant and weary from his day's sport. The villagers were up at
Dalgrothe Mountain, soldiering for Valmond. Every evening, when the
haymakers put up their scythes, the mill-wheel stopped turning, and the
Angelus ceased, the men marched away into the hills, where the ardent
soldier of fortune had pitched his camp.
Tents, muskets, ammunition came out of dark places, as they are ever sure
to come when the war-trumpet sounds. All seems peace, but suddenly, at
the wild call, the latent barbarian in human nature springs up and is
ready; and the cruder the arms, the fiercer the temper that wields.
Recruits now arrived from other parishes, and besides those who came
every night to drill, there were others who stayed always in camp.
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