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on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this priest-led and woman-officered company: yet their music played martial tunes, and—to judge by the eyes and carriage of some, Miss Keeldar, for instance—these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helstone, turning by chance, looked into her face, and he laughed, and she laughed at him.

"There is no battle in prospect," he said; "our country does not want us to fight for it: no foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our liberty: there is nothing to be done: we are only taking a walk. Keep your hand on the reins, captain, and slack the fire of that spirit: it is not wanted; the more's the pity."

"Take your own advice, Doctor," was Shirley's response. To Caroline, she murmured, "I'll borrow of imagination what reality will not give me. We are not soldiers—bloodshed is not my desire;