"You have misled us once to-night, I must remind you; and I give you fair warning that my troopers will not bear fooling twice." With all his faults the Riding Officer did not lack courage.
Disdaining the threat, he waved his hand to the Dragoons to follow and put his horse at a canter down the leafy lane.
It is recorded in the High History of the Grail, of Sir Lohot, son of King Arthur, that he had a marvellous weakness; which was, that no sooner had he slain a man than he fell across his body.

So it happened this night to the valiant men of Troy.
The Dragoons, emerging from the woods of Pentethy into close view of the house and its terrace and slope that falls from the terrace to the river, found themselves intruders upon the queerest of domestic dramas.
On the terrace among the leaden gods danced a little man, wigless, in an orange-coloured dressing-gown and a fury of choler.

At the head of the green slope immediately under the balustrade Major Hymen, surrounded by a moderately sober staff, faced the storm in an attitude at once dignified and patient.
"An idea has occurred to me," he put in at length with stately deliberation as Sir Felix paused panting for fresh words of opprobrium.

"It is, sir, that overlooking the few minutes by which our salvoes were--er--antedated, you allow us to acclaim your latest-born as Honorary-Colonel of our corps." "But," almost shrieked Sir Felix, "damn your eyes, it's _twins_--and both _girls_!" The Major winced.

A rosy flush of indignation mantled his cheeks, and only his habitual respect for the landed gentry (whom he was accustomed to call the backbone of England) checked him on the verge of a severe retort.