“Ohhh . . . thank . . . you.”

Ensign Osillbury got the impression the man was speaking not to him but to Him.

“Umm, will you be all right up here, Sir? By yourself? While I go get someone to fetch you down?”

There was a moist, sticky rustle, and it took the ensign a moment to realize the man was trying to nod.

“I’ll . . . be fine. I must accustom myself to waiting . . . for the help of others. Only . . . would you turn me a little more . . . toward the house?”

“Of course, Sir.”

The soldier stepped behind the box—he was more than happy to do so—and shifted it a little to the left.

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

“Very good, Sir. I’ll just, uhh, be off, then.”

And Ensign Osillbury hurried away, leaving the man in the box there alone, watching for Miss Elizabeth Bennet—and practicing his waiting.