"And I am captain of the banditti!" exclaimed Lord Strathern, in a
sudden rage. "As you do not _yet_ command the brigade, let me beg you,
sir, to go and look after your own people, and keep them up to the
mark, lest they become banditti!"

"I always obey orders, my lord," said L'Isle, with suddenly assumed
composure; "I will go and look after my own regiment, and let the rest
of the brigade march"--

"Where, sir?" thundered Lord Strathern.

"Their own road," L'Isle answered, and bowed himself out of the
room. He walked sedately through the long corridor that led to the
entrance of this monastic house, then, yielding to some violent
impulse, sprang into his saddle, and plunging his spurs into his
horse's flanks, dashed out of the court and through the olive grounds
at a killing pace. His astonished groom stared at him for a moment,
then followed with emulous speed. As L'Isle turned suddenly into the
high road, a voice called out: "Don't ride me down; I'm no Frenchman!"
and he saw Colonel Bradshawe quickly but coolly press his ambling cob
close to the hedge, to avoid his charge.

"You seem to be in a hurry, L'Isle. Hallo! here is another!" said the
colonel, giving his horse another dexterous turn, to shun the onset of
the groom. "What news has come? Or have you joined the dragoons? Or
are you merely running a race with your man here?"

"Neither, sir," said L'Isle, who had pulled up and turned to speak to
his comrade. His flashing eye and excited manner, his thoroughbred