also a smart little horse artillery sub., named Hudson. Woolett declined, “I can never get off duty in the early morning, though I should like it above all things."

As Linwood and Woolett walked home together, they began to talk of the event of the day, the suicide we have spoken of. They had both been members of the court of inquiry, held in the morning at the Artillery Hospital.

"I can't get that fellow out of my head," said Linwood. "I wonder what he did it for!"

"Nor can I," answered the other; "I don't know what he did it for. Most likely his digestion got out of order, and he got disgusted. He had probably begun taking opium before, there was evidence of that; and then, with the drug in his head, the temptation was just too strong to have done with the whole thing."

"You think he did it on purpose

Hugh thoughtfully.

? said

Yes; very few people handle poisons too

VOL. I.

T

carelessly, and though it is the charitable thing to suppose it was accidental, I feel pretty sure it was a fit of disgust."

"I wonder there are not more cases of the kind," said Hugh. "Those men must have such awfully slow lives in barracks. I dare say he was right from his point of view."

"That I don't," answered Woolett forcibly. "No man has any right to get out of this world before he is taken; and to put it on no higher ground, a man has no right to throw away such a splendid physique as he did. Just think of the number of men who are hanging on to life, feeling the whole thing a burden, though without any thought of throwing it off, just for lack of the broad chest and powerful limbs that that young fellow never appreciated as a blessing."

You can't expect the British gunner to look on himself from a medical point of view," said Hugh lightly, though he noted and felt touched at his friend's allusion to the

blessing of physical strength. He was morbid too, but from another point of view; and it appeared when, after walking a few paces in silence, he went on,

"We had best leave him alone; suicide is a dangerous subject this hot weather. Really that man's calm peaceful face, all worry over, and life clean done with, has been before me all day. It would not take much to make me wish to be beside him."

"You had better have a cheroot," Woolett said. "What has come over you, Hugh?

You are about the last man I should have suspected of that sort of unwholesome non

sense."

They entered the house together, and Hugh smoked in silence, pacing up and down the verandah for half the night long after Woolett had gone to bed, with his head full of queer fancies, and two visions displacing each other in his mind's eye. The one, Ida's fair living face as she sat sleeping a few mornings back, with its look

of pitiful weariness; and then the placid dead one of Gunner Thompson, who looked so happy in his escape from life and its

cares.

CHAPTER XVII.

ACROSS THE FRONTIER.

THE third morning after Mrs. Maxwell's "at home," was at last fixed for the ride to Jumrood.

Ida had sent off over night a couple of table-servants, with a mule laden with the wherewithal for a solid breakfast, to be eaten in any available corner of the dismantled fort. She and her husband were early awake, and by half-past two in the morning were mounted. There was enough left of a waning moon to make the question of light no difficulty. Ida was quite wide awake, in spite of the early hour. Her summer ridinghabit of dark blue merino, with a loose jacket held to her waist by a leathern belt, white straw hat, with drooping black feathers, suited her very well; and Arthur felt not a little proud of her as she sat waiting for him