dusk, thinking life all sorrow, the world all gloom.

Suddenly the sound of laughter struck my ears. Could there indeed be
mirth anywhere--nay, so near at hand--while such woe dwelt in the
house I had left? The merriment seemed a violence, a sacrilege, an
insult. I looked angrily at the place whence the noise proceeded.
'Twas from the parlour of the King's Arms tavern--for, in my doleful
ponderings, my feet had carried me, scarce consciously, so far from
Queen Street. I peered in through the lighted window. A number of
officers were drinking, after dinner, at a large table, and 'twas the
noise of their boisterous gaiety that my unhappy feelings had so
swiftly resented.

While the merry fellows dipped their punch from the great bowl
steaming in the centre of the table, and laughed uproariously at the
story one was telling, I beheld in sharp contrast this jocund scene
and the sad one I had so recently looked upon. And, coming to observe
particulars, I suddenly noticed that the cause of all this laughter,
himself smiling in appreciation of his own story as he told it, his
face the picture of well-bred light-hearted mirth, was Captain
Falconer. And he was the cause of the other scene, the sorrow that
abode in the house I loved! The thought turned me to fire. I uttered a
curse, and strode into the tavern; rudely flung open the parlour door,
and stood in the presence of the laughing officers.

Falconer himself was the first to recognise me, though all had turned
to see who made so violent an entrance.

"Why, Russell," cried he, showing not a whit of ill-humour at the
interruption to his story, "this is a pleasure, by George! I haven't