the same haughty and measured step that had characterised
his entrance.

"Our colonel does not appear to be in one of his most
amiable moods to-night," observed Captain Blessington,
as the officers, after having disposed of their respective
companies, now proceeded along the ramparts to assist at
the last funeral offices of their unhappy associate.
"He was disposed to be severe, and must have put you, in
some measure, out of conceit with your favourite rifle,
Valletort."

"True," rejoined the Baronet, who had already rallied
from the momentary depression of his spirits, "he hit me
devilish hard, I confess, and was disposed to display
more of the commanding officer than quite suits my ideas
of the service. His words were as caustic as his looks;
and could both have pierced me to the quick, there was
no inclination on his part wanting. By my soul I could.
...but I forgive him. He is the father of my friend:
and for that reason will I chew the cud of my mortification,
nor suffer, if possible, a sense of his unkindness to
rankle at my heart. At all events, Blessington, my mind
is made up, and resign or exchange I certainly shall the
instant I can find a decent loop-hole to creep out of."

Sir Everard fancied the ear of his captain was alone
listening to these expressions of his feeling, or in all
probability he would not have uttered them. As he concluded
the last sentence, however, he felt his arm gently grasped