assure himself that we were alone, seized my hand with a most unusual
earnestness, and, steadfastly looking at me, said--

"Harry Lorrequer, will you stand by me?"

So sudden and unexpected was his appearance at the moment, that I really
felt but half awake, and kept puzzling myself for an explanation of the
scene, rather than thinking of a reply to his question; perceiving which,
and auguring but badly from my silence, he continued--

"Am I then, really deceived in what I believed to be an old and tried
friend?"

"Why, what the devil's the matter?" I cried out. "If you are in a
scrape, why of course you know I'm your man; but, still, it's only fair
to let one know something of the matter in the meanwhile."

"In a scrape!" said he, with a long-drawn sigh, intended to beat the
whole Minerva press in its romantic cadence.

"Well, but get on a bit," said I, rather impatiently; "who is the fellow
you've got the row with? Not one of ours, I trust?"

"Ah, my dear Hal," said he, in the same melting tone as before--"How your
imagination does run upon rows, and broils, and duelling rencontres,"
(he, the speaker, be it known to the reader, was the fire-eater of the
regiment,) "as if life had nothing better to offer than the excitement of
a challenge, or the mock heroism of a meeting."

As he made a dead pause here, after which he showed no disposition to