engineers as they have elsewhere proved themselves, have constructed
but a very weak fortress in this building. Our garrison is weaker
still. Papa carried off his two most efficient servants. William is a
simpleton, Tomkins a craven, and Moodie, though bold as a lion, is an
old man, already bound hand and foot, and gagged by his strong enemy."

"But where is the Portuguese part of your household?" L'Isle asked.

"Being thieves in a small way," said Lady Mabel, "we always, at night,
lock them out of this part of the building. While the robbers were
cutting our throats up-stairs, they might be stealing our silver
below. We have an anxious time here, I assure you. It is as much as I
can do to keep poor Jenny from going off into hysterics; she will not
go to bed lest she should be robbed and murdered in her sleep. It is
lucky that I, being a soldier's daughter, have a little courage."

"Courage!" exclaimed L'Isle, "I am astonished at your sudden
timidity. Why, there is a sentinel day and night here at
headquarters."

"But out of sight and hearing at the other end of this old rambling
monk's roost," said Lady Mabel, "mounting guard over papa's musty
despatches."

"And the fellow now there," said Jenny, "told me he could not quit
them--no, not if we were robbed and murdered twice over. I could
scream now, only that I'm afraid the villains might hear me!"

While L'Isle looked suspiciously at the maid, not so good an actress
as her mistress, Lady Mabel glanced her eye at the clock. Apparent
time called it one, real time said it was two hours after
midnight. She felt sure of her game, and need wear the mask no longer.
She had been acting a long and trying part, and began to feel tired,
and now showed it by letting her terror subside into one or two little
yawns, which became her so well, that L'Isle never thought her more
lovely than now when she was getting tired of his company.

It was high time to get rid of him. But now a real fear come over her,
and she shrunk from his searching glance with unfeigned timidity.
Still the thing had to be done; so nerving herself to the task, she
stepped close up beside him, and looking confidingly in his face,
said: "I am truly sorry to have kept you here so long, and hope you
will not find Sir Rowland fretting and fuming at the delay of your
news; but I was so anxious to have your protection, having just
learned that these horrid ruffians are not _guerilleros_ from the
Spanish band at Badajoz, but some of your own regiment disguised as
banditti."

L'Isle started back one step. In an instant, from the fairy land of
hope and love, his Eden of delights, with every soothing and
intoxicating influence around him, he found himself transported to a
bleak common, stripped of his dreamy joys, exposed to the ridicule of
the enchantress, and soon to be pelted with the pitiless jests of all
who might hear of his adventure. He looked at Lady Mabel, almost
expecting to see her undergo some magic transformation. But there she
stood unchanged, except that there was a little sneer on her lip, a
glance of triumph from her eye, an expression of intense but
mischievous enjoyment in her whole air, and, what he had never
observed before, a strong likeness to her father.

Striving quickly and proudly to recover himself, L'Isle said, with
admirable gravity, "You have convinced me, Lady Mabel, that it is my
especial duty to protect you from my own banditti. I will not leave
you, not close an eye in sleep, while a shadow of danger hangs over
you. But," he added, slowly drawing near to a window, and gently
opening it, "I have observed that house-breakers always choose the
darkest hours to hide their deeds of darkness. For to-night the danger
is over. The moon is overhead, and not a cloud obscures the sky. We
English may envy these Southern nations their nights, though not their
days." Half a dozen nightingales were now pouring out their rival
melodies in the grove. Looking out on the landscape before him, its
features softened rather than concealed by the sober silvery light, he
repeated:

  "How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder bank,
   * * * * In such a night as this,
   When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
   And they did make no noise--in such a night
   Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
   And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
   Where Cressid lay that night."

While repeating these lines, he measured with his eye the distance to
the ground. The comfort-loving monks had provided lofty ceilings and
abundant air for their apartments under the scorching sun of
Alemtejo. But in L'Isle's angry, defiant mood, he would have leapt
from the top of Pompey's Pillar, rather than stay to be laughed at by
Lady Mabel. Seating himself on the window-sill, he turned and threw
his legs out of the window.

"For Heaven's sake, Colonel L'Isle, what are you dreaming of?"

"I am dreaming that, happy as Ulysses, I have listened to the Syren,
and escaped her snares."

She had sprang forward as he spoke, and now threw out her arms to draw
him back. He eluded her clasp, and dropped to the ground on his feet,
but fell backward, and did not at once rise again. She shrieked, and
then called out in a piteous tone: "Speak to me, Colonel L'Isle. For
Heaven's sake, speak. Say you are not injured--not hurt."

"Console yourself, Lady Mabel," said he, rising slowly. "I have not
broken my neck, and shall not break my appointment. And, now, I must
bid you good-night; or shall I say good-morning?"

As L'Isle turned, he spied old Moodie standing in the open gateway of
the court, with a light in his hand, and knitting his shaggy brows. He
looked neither very drunk, nor much afraid of robbers, but trembled
with rage on seeing L'Isle's mode of breaking out of the mansion. With
a strong effort of self-control, L'Isle walked off without limping,
and was soon lost in the gloomy shades of the olive and the orange
grove.

Lady Mabel had played out the comedy, and now came--reflection. What
had she done? How would it tell? Above all, what would L'Isle think of
her? What were his feelings now? And what would they be when the exact
truth-the whole plot--was known to him? Every faculty hitherto
engrossed in the part she was playing, until this moment she had never
looked on this side of the picture? Now, bitter self-reproach, womanly
shame, and tears--vain, useless tears--filled up the remaining hours
of the night. Jenny Aiken's feeble attempts at consolation were worse
than futile, and she was sent off abruptly to her room for
misconstruing the cause of her mistress' grief. Lady Mabel found
little relief in remembering her father's injunction, to play her part
well, and not fail of success. She was hardly soothed even by the
resolution she took to rate that father soundly for the gross
impropriety he had permitted, induced--nay, almost commanded--her to
perpetrate.

CHAPTER XIX.

    _Don Pedro_.--By this light he changes more and more. I think he
  be angry, indeed.
    _Claudio_.--If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
    _Benedict_.--Shall I speak a word in your ear?
    _Claudio_.--God bless me from a challenge.

                                         Much ado about Nothing.

Sir Rowland Hill, with a stout division, had been posted during the
winter at Coria, facing Marshal Soult in the valley of the
Tagus--holding him to bail not to disturb the peace and quiet of the
British army cantoned along the frontier. The Marshal had now
swallowed or pocketed all that he could find in the rich, but hapless
vale of Plasencia, and of late had been casting hungry glances on the
country south of the river. This had induced Sir Rowland to ride over
from Coria to Alcantara, to look to his line of communication with the
southern provinces. This old city had been long sinking into decay;
the French General, Lapisse, spent one night in it four years ago; and
well nigh completed the work which time had begun. Still its position
and its famous bridge, one arch of which had been blown up, and had
now been hastily repaired, made it an important point at this time.

In a Gothic hall, which looked as if it had not long since been
visited by the Vandals, but which had of old been often thronged with
members of the once chivalrous order of Alcantara, now as effete in
knighthood as that of Malta; a military secretary was writing at a
small table, at the dictation of Sir Rowland Hill, who stood near,
perchance, as good a knight as ever trod that floor. Officers came in
to him, and were sent out again on various missions. Lord Strathern
was seated by a larger table at the other end of the room, conversing
gaily with his fellow-travelers from Elvas, and waiting Sir Rowland's
leisure.

Sir Rowland presently looked at his watch, and raising his voice,
inquired--"My Lord, has L'Isle come yet?"

"Not yet," Lord Strathern answered with a smiling countenance, while
Sir Rowland's expressed disappointment. He knew that the
commander-in-chief was about to order a combination of simultaneous
movements. Every part of the allied force from Gallicia to Andalusia
had its task allotted, and he was anxious to know how far the _Conde
di Abispal's_ could be relied on.

"L'Isle is usually before his time," said Sir Rowland. "Do you think
he got my order yesterday?"

"I have little doubt of it," said my lord.

"But I doubt his being here soon," said Bradshawe, dipping in his oar
to trouble the waters. "He had to go last night to a concert in
Elvas."

"A concert detain him! I do not understand that."

"Nor I, Sir Rowland," said Bradshawe coolly. "I only heard it without
pretending to understand it."

Sir Rowland looked puzzled, but his unfinished dispatch claimed his
attention, and he turned again to his secretary.

Meanwhile Lord Strathern was in high spirits. "The hour has come, but
not the man!" he said, and began to triumph over Conway, and laugh at
L'Isle so merrily, that he would have soon found it in his heart to
forgive the latter all his offensive strictures on him. But, suddenly,
his merriment gave place to a look of surprise and disappointment.
Conway, turning to ascertain the cause, saw L'Isle walk into the room
as if he had come hither at his leisure; yet, something in his
bearing, betrayed that his pride was in arms.

"I am glad to see you, L'Isle," said Sir Rowland. "I were loath to
close my dispatch without adding the intelligence you might bring
me. By the bye, some of these gentlemen thought that you would not be
here so soon."

"They must have supposed that I had not received your order, sir,"
said L'Isle, glancing haughtily round on Lord Strathern; "but, having
got it, I am here."

"It seems to have cost you hard riding though, and more fatigue than
you are yet equal to," said Sir Rowland, remembering his late
wounds. "And you have had a fall," he added, observing some marks on
his clothes.

"Not from my horse," said L'Isle, shortly and somewhat bitterly. "But
it is of no consequence," and he hastened to produce his notes and
furnish Sir Rowland with the information expected from him.

Besides the unerased marks of a fall, L'Isle's clothes were
travel-stained, and his face was pale, less, perhaps, from fatigue and
loss of sleep, than from the violent excitement and revulsion of
feelings he had lately undergone. But he soon withdrew Sir Rowland's
attention from himself to his full and precise account of the state of
the Andalusian reserve, and the garrison of Badajoz.

"I am glad to find that this body of Spanish troops are not, like too
many Spanish armies, men of straw, an army on paper," said Sir
Rowland. "The French are trying to occupy so extended a position here
in Estremadura, that our Andalusian friends may do capital service in
harassing their out-posts, and cutting off their convoys."

"If they can be kept out of the plains, and induced not to fight,"
said L'Isle, smiling. "But the Spaniard is always seeking to surround
the enemy, and force him to battle."

"At all events," said Sir Rowland, "I can now give Lord Wellington a
definite and reliable account of their condition;" and, making a sign
to L'Isle to accompany him, he walked across the room and seated
himself at the larger table. Here he held a somewhat prolonged
conference with Lord Strathern, in which the other gentlemen were, at
times, called upon to take part. When compelled to speak, L'Isle
distinguished himself by giving admirable specimens of the lapidary
style, not one spare word. Sir Rowland had many questions to ask and
instructions to give; but, these over, he gave a less professional
turn to the conversation, and then said: "I hope, my lord, you and
these gentlemen will share my poor dinner to-day; but remember, I am
not at home in Alcantara, and cannot feast you, as you do your friends
at Elvas; neither can we sit long and drink deep, as I must return
to-night to Coria."

"We will dine with you with pleasure," said Lord Strathern. "Pray,
Bradshawe, who could have told Sir Rowland that we sit long and drink
deep at Elvas?"

"Some thirsty fellow," said Bradshawe, "who had drained the last drop
from his last bottle."

"Oh, my lord," said Sir Rowland, laughing, "I meant no
insinuation. But I must finish my despatch," and he returned to his
secretary.

While Lord Strathern and his companions awaited Sir Rowland's leisure,
L'Isle sat moodily apart, turning an unsocial shoulder toward his
lordship, giving him a glimpse of his back.

Lord Strathern smiled; he saw the earth stains, and saw, moreover,
evident marks of anger and chagrin in L'Isle's demeanor. His curiosity
was strongly excited, and he resolved to make the silent man find his
tongue.

"Pray, L'Isle how came you to let your horse slip from under you, and
measure your length in the road?"

"You are mistaken, my lord," said L'Isle, formally; "my horse did not
throw me."

"You are so used to success that you will acknowledge no failure, not
even a fall from your horse, or your hobby-horse. Perhaps you got
tired, and took a nap by the roadside, which accounts for your getting
here no sooner."

L'Isle was too angry to trust himself with an answer, but Major
Conway, turning to Bradshawe, said gaily: "Colonel L'Isle is here soon
enough for me; he is within the time, and I have won the fifty
guineas."

L'Isle started. Here was a revelation! His last night's adventure was
no secret. There were more parties to the plot than he had imagined.

"Sir!" said he, turning upon Conway, with a cold, hard manner. "Am I
to understand that you have done me the honor to bet on my movements?"

"Here is gratitude for you," exclaimed Conway, pacifically appealing
to his companions, and his voice attracted Sir Rowland's attention.
"Here have I been showing for him the height of friendship, hazarding
my best friends, my guineas, on his infallible fulfillment of duty;
and my full faith in him is received as an outrage."

"I suppose, sir," said L'Isle, turning on Bradshawe, with freezing
politeness, "it is you who have so obligingly afforded my volunteer
backer so singular an opportunity of proving his friendship?"

"I cannot claim the credit of it," answered Bradshawe, with easy
urbanity. "I am not even a stakeholder in the game; though, as a mere
looker-on, I confess having watched it with keen and growing
interest." And with a little wave of the hand he passed L'Isle gently
over to Lord Strathern.

L'Isle looked from the imperturbable colonel to the pacific major, who
professed to be so zealously his partisan, and back again to the
former. Not seeing how he could fasten a quarrel on either, he turned
somewhat reluctantly on Lord Strathern, who complacently awaited him.

"As for you, my lord, I might have felt surprise at your making me the
subject of such a bet, but it is lost in astonishment at the means you
took to win it!"

"And, after all to lose it," said Lord Strathern, in a mocking,
dolorous tone. "Is it not provoking?"

"No scruple," continued L'Isle, "seems to have stood in your way, my
lord, in the choice of either means or agent."

"On the contrary," said Lord Strathern, blandly, "I always
scrupulously choose the best of both."

"You must have contrived this plot," L'Isle persisted, "though the
chief actor be in Elvas. But I will say no more here."

"A few words more, I pray," said Lord Strathern, smiling. "I
understood that you were to have been detained in Elvas. How the devil
did you get away?"

L'Isle turned abruptly away, seeing that the more anger and
mortification he showed, the more gratified Lord Strathern seemed to
be. Rising from his seat, he walked up to Sir Rowland, who had been
watching him with much curiosity, and said: "I suppose, sir, you have
no further use for me here. If so, pray excuse my absence from your
table to-day, as I have occasion to return at once to Elvas."

Sir Rowland bid his secretary go and send off the despatch at once;
then looking fixedly at L'Isle, said: "I may need you here for a day
or two."

L'Isle bit his lip till the blood came, while Sir Rowland, stepping
over to Lord Strathern, asked in an undertone: "What is the matter
with L'Isle, my lord? he seems strangely out of humor."

"The truth is, Sir Rowland," said his lordship, in a confidential
tone, "somebody in Elvas has been quizzing L'Isle, and a man of his
vanity cannot stand being quizzed."

"Quizzed!" said Sir Rowland. "Does quizzing make a man mad?"

L'Isle dared not trust himself longer in Lord Strathern's company; he
wanted time to recover his self-command; so he again addressed Sir
Rowland: "That I left Elvas so suddenly, and unprepared for a
prolonged absence, matters little, Sir Rowland; but I have been so
little with my regiment of late, that--"

"Let your major take care of it a few days longer," Sir Rowland
answered, in a positive tone.

"You had better let L'Isle go, Sir Rowland," said Lord Strathern. "He
is afraid to lose sight of his regiment, lest they become banditti."

L'Isle's flushed cheek and compressed lips, showed that he felt the
taunt, while Sir Rowland exclaimed, in surprise: "Are they so unruly?
Then you must look to them yourself, my lord, for I shall keep Colonel
L'Isle a while with me. The truth is, L'Isle, I divine your urgent
business at Elvas. Some one there has given you gross offence, and you
seek revenge under the name of satisfaction. There is always sin and
folly enough in these affairs; but here, within sight of the smoke of
the enemy's camp, and now, when we are about to fall upon them, these
personal feuds are criminal madness. I would put you under arrest,
sooner than let you post off to Elvas on so bloodthirsty an errand."

Sir Rowland uttered this speech with an air worthy of his Puritan
uncle, of Calvinistic memory; but, in spite of the respect due to the
speaker, it was too much for the gravity of his hearers. Lord
Strathern and his companions burst into a roar of laughter, and even
L'Isle, amidst all his anger, felt tempted to join them.

"Gentlemen," said Sir Rowland, in grave astonishment, "I like a joke
as well as any of you. Pray explain this, that I may share your
enjoyment."

Bradshawe, with an effort, cut short his laughter, to say: "As a
neutral party, Sir Rowland, I will be Colonel L'Isle's surety, that in
whatever mood he may set out for Elvas, as soon as he finds himself in
the presence of his enemy there, he will be gentle as a lamb."

"You deal in mysteries; who in Elvas is so safe from L'Isle's
resentment?"

"Nobody but Lady Mabel Stewart."

"Lady Mabel Stewart!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, looking at Lord
Strathern. "If a lady contrived this plot, I shall never unravel it;
so you must do it for me."

"Perhaps the explanation," said Bradshawe, "would come more gracefully
from my lord."

"If I knew the details of it," said Lord Strathern, interrupting his
hearty laughter, for he seemed resolved, at all hazard, to recover his
fifty guineas, in sport, out of L'Isle. "I can tell but the beginning;
and then, Sir Rowland, you can squeeze the rest out of L'Isle
himself."

"By all means," said Sir Rowland. "L'Isle, take a seat, and learn to
stand fire. You must not dodge from a volley of laughter, that happens
to be aimed at yourself."

L'Isle reluctantly sat down, while Lord Strathern said: "Have you ever
discovered, Sir Rowland, that L'Isle is a monomaniac?"

"No! On what point?"

"Discipline! He is a little touched here," said my lord, laying his
finger on his temple, "on the subject of discipline. He never eats
heartily, nor sleeps quietly, but after detecting the breach of a
dozen of the rules and regulations made for the government of his
Majesty's troops. He fancies that they were made expressly to afford
him the pleasure of detecting the breach of them."

"Is this disease prevalent in your brigade, my lord?" Sir Rowland
inquired in a sarcastic tone.

"By no means; I have kept it down; for my method, looking to the
spirit, not the letter of the law, discourages it greatly."

"I have seen something of your method, my lord," said Sir Rowland,
smiling; "but cannot say that I have mastered its peculiar merits."

"That is very likely," said Lord Strathern, complacently. "As every
art has its mysteries--so each man may have some peculiar gift in the
application of his art; even though taught by the same master, no two
men's handwriting are exactly alike; so each of us may have some
inimitable peculiarity in his soldiership. It is certain that L'Isle,
not understanding my more enlarged and liberal system, wished to force
me into his own narrow notions, and when I would not yield to him, he
intimated to me that I was training up banditti. I had to recommend to
him the study of one of the articles of war, which he had
overlooked. It treats of subordination, and of each man's minding his
own business. Neither of us was very successful in keeping his temper;
and, indeed, being a good deal ruffled, I afterward spoke pretty
freely of L'Isle's conduct to these gentlemen, who dined with me.
Mabel shared my feelings, and, with my consent, set a trap for him,
hoping to teach him that he himself might be caught tripping. How he
escaped in time to get here you must learn from himself."

"Come, L'Isle, we have heard the prologue," said Sir Rowland; "be not
bashful, but give us the comedy."

What was L'Isle to do? It was evidently something more than curiosity
that made Sir Rowland so earnest to sift this matter. He could hardly
refuse all explanation to him--and he felt that it would never do to
give an account of Lady Mabel's behavior, to himself, as he had
construed it. Lord Strathern, too, did not exactly know what he was
urging him to do. Suddenly recollecting Lady Mabel's note, L'Isle drew
it from his pocket, and handed it to her father, for his private
reading. To L'Isle's astonishment, Lord Strathern read it out with
great _gusto_, and commented on it.

This was capital bait for the trap. "And pray, Mr. Interpreter, how
did you and your principal get through the evening?"

"You see the dilemma, Sir Rowland," exclaimed Bradshawe, with
glee. "Here was a conflict of duties. Colonel L'Isle had to obey two
commanders at one time, which Scripture tells us is difficult, if not
impossible."

"L'Isle seems to have achieved the impossible," said Sir Rowland; "for
I know you are too _gallant_ a man, L'Isle, to neglect a lady's order
for mine."

Sir Rowland's manner, though not his words, were urgent for an
explanation; and L'Isle being now fairly in for it, with an effort,
gathered his wits together, and opened the narrative of his last
night's adventure. He recounted Lady Mabel's successful efforts to
amuse and occupy him into a forgetfulness of the flying hours; her
artful delays before setting out; their slow but pleasant drive up
hill to Elvas; the animated and well-sustained part she had played
throughout the evening; her wit, her satire, and her singing, and his
labors as interpreter, acknowledging many foolish things of his own,
in his efforts to be witty and amusing according to contract. He
described her well-feigned fear of returning home in the dark without
an escort, the brilliantly lighted house and well-timed supper, at
which, unconscious of the flight of time, he sat listening to her
diverting talk, including her piquant sketch of Sir Rowland's glorious
dinners and tactical lectures, and the value his officers set on
each. Here his auditors had each an opportunity of laughing at each
other, and being laughed at in turn.

L'Isle strove to make Lady Mabel appear witty, amusing, and adroit; he
gave edge to her satire--keenness to her wit; but carefully rounded
off all the more salient points of her acting. He said nothing of her
singing "Constant my heart," at him. He did not hint at his taking her
hand in the coach, or kissing it at the supper table; but dilated on
her skillful libel on old Moodie's sobriety, and her well acted dread
of the house-breaking banditti, from whom he could best protect her,
as they are no other than his own men.

Though L'Isle did not get through his narrative with the best possible
grace, he was doubly successful in it; at once greatly amusing his
auditors, yet exhibiting Lady Mabel only as a witty girl, who had
merely played the part allotted to her with mischievous pleasure and
consummate tact. But he attained this at the cost of showing himself
an easy dupe to her arts, and getting well laughed at for his
pains. It cost L'Isle no small effort to do this. It was, in fact, a
heroic, self-sacrificing act; for he was not used to being laughed at,
and there is something highly amusing in compelling a man to tell a
story which makes him more and more ridiculous at every turn. But
while showing so much consideration for Lady Mabel, so far was he from
beginning to forgive her ill-usage of him, that the constraint he had
put upon himself only embittered his feelings toward her.

As to Lord Strathern, he was delighted with the account of _ma
belle_'s cunning manoeuvres and witty speeches, even to the point of
laughing heartily at her satire on himself; and he reveled in L'Isle's
ill-concealed mortification, exclaiming: "What a pity the plot failed
by Mabel's unmasking too soon. That and your good horse enabled you to
keep your appointment at the risk of your neck. Why, L'Isle, you might
have become a ballad hero. Mabel would have put your adventure in
verse, and set it to music, and you would have been sung by all our
musical folks, from Major Lumley down to the smallest drummer-boy. You
are a lucky fellow; but this time your luck has lost you fame."

"And how did you get away at last?" asked Sir Rowland, fully convinced
that L'Isle had been a prisoner, under lock, bolt and bar.

The earth-stains on L'Isle's clothes might have testified that he had
gotten a bad fall in jumping out of a lady's window, at two o'clock in
the morning. But this is a scandalous world. L'Isle remembered
Bradshawe, without looking at him, and evaded the question.

"I found old Moodie, lantern in hand, at the open gate, looking as if
he had drank nothing but vinegar in a month, the picture of sour
sobriety!"

Sir Rowland had striven in vain not to join in the laugh; but, in
spite of himself, was much diverted at L'Isle's adventure. But he was
provoked at the usage his favorite colonel had incurred, for the best
of faults--too much zeal for the service; and he longed to discuss
with Lord Strathern the propriety of setting traps for his own
officers, when posting, with important intelligence, to their common
commander. But there was a lady in the case, and Sir Rowland was
afraid to broach the subject; Lord Strathern, too, though his
subordinate was nearly old enough for his father--a man of high rank,
and a known good soldier; so he put off the discussion to a more
convenient season. As to L'Isle, Sir Rowland had been watching him
closely, and saw something in his eye and bearing that betrayed too
much exasperation for him to be trusted to return at once to Elvas.
So, Sir Rowland invented, on the spot, a special duty for him, and bid
him accompany him, that evening, to Coria.

CHAPTER XX.

  Ralph.--Help down with the hangings.
  Roger.--By and by, Ralph.
              I am making up the trunks here.
  Ralph.--Who looks to my lady's wardrobe? Humphrey!
              Down with the boxes in the gallery,
              And bring away the couch-cushions.
  Shorthose.--Will it not rain?
              No conjuring abroad, nor no devices
              To stop this journey.

                                    --_Wit without Money_.

  Away, you trifler!--Love?--I love thee not:
  I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world
  To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips:
  We must have bloody noses, and cracked crowns,
  And pass them current, too. Godsme, my horse!

                                      --_Henry IV_.

Lord Strathern returned the next day to Elvas, and found his daughter
very desolate, and full of more than filial anxiety to see him. She
was alone, for the Commissary had, the day before, sent off his heavy
baggage toward Lisbon. Lady Mabel would, at any time, have grieved at
parting with a true-hearted friend like Mrs. Shortridge; but now other
troubles weighed heavy on her, and so aggravated her obvious grief,
while the chief cause was hidden, that her kind friend was deeply
moved and greatly flattered at perceiving it. Had she staid longer in
Elvas, Lady Mabel would have confided her troubles to her, knowing
that, though she might not think wisely, she could feel rightly, and
give both advice and sympathy. But after a struggle of hesitation, she
let Mrs. Shortridge depart in ignorance, receiving from her many kind
messages and adieus for L'Isle.

Perhaps it was best that it should be so; for, had the good lady
learned the usage her favorite had met with, she might, for once in
her life, have boiled over with indignation.

"Well, _Ma Belle_," said Lord Strathern, as soon as he was alone with
his daughter, "so that fellow, L'Isle, beat us, after all, at our own
game. I did expect that your woman's wit would have carried it through
successfully."

"Would to Heavens, papa, my woman's wit, as you call it, had been
sufficient to keep me out of it altogether. How could you think of
putting such a part upon me? I never would have dreamed of it, if you
had not urged--insisted on my detaining him here. What is Colonel
L'Isle to me, that I should manoeuvre to keep him in Elvas, when Sir
Rowland Hill expects him in Alcantara? And as for my resenting your
quarrels with him, there is an impropriety in it, and yet more in the
mode you made me adopt. I am ashamed of myself--I am ashamed of you,
papa, for conceiving it."

"And to fail, after all," said Lord Strathern. "And yet, by L'Isle's
own account, you played your part well."

"His account!" exclaimed Lady Mabel. "To whom?"

"To us all--Sir Rowland, Bradshawe, Conway, and myself. He was
disposed to be sulky and silent, at first; but, with Sir Rowland's
help, we drew it all out of him."

"Drew it all out of him!" said Lady Mabel, in a faltering tone. She
gasped for breath, and her cheek grew pale. But the next moment the
blood rushed into her face, and she exclaimed: "What! Did Colonel
L'Isle give you a full account of the party--of all that occurred that
evening?"

"Full and minute. He was very reluctant to tell, as we were all
laughing at him; but Sir Rowland is a good inquisitor, and made him
speak out, and at length. I did not know he had so good a memory, or
you so much wit."

"For Heaven's sake, papa, what did he tell you?" Lady Mabel sat
watching her father with eager eyes, her hands firmly clasped, and her
heel impatiently tapping the floor, while she strove to master her
almost uncontrollable confusion and anxiety.

"Why, he handed me your note," said Lord Strathern. "Perhaps he meant
it for my eye alone; but it was such capital bait for the trap, that I
read it aloud. He then seemed to make up his mind to conceal
nothing. He told us of your artful delays, your slow-paced coach
crawling up-hill; of your efforts to entertain Mrs. Shortridge's
company, and keep him employed as interpreter; your songs and your
care to prolong the amusements of the evening; your affected fears at
riding home in your old coach with your new postillion. He described
your supper-party, and repeated your entertaining conversation, your
libel on Moodie, gone drunk to bed, and your satire on Sir Rowland and
the rest of us; your well-acted terror of robbers, and your triumph
over him when you thought the game was won. If you had not been
over-confident and too hasty, Mabel, we would have had L'Isle on the
hip."

"Was that _all_ he told you?" asked Lady Mabel.

"Why? Was there any thing more to tell?" inquired her father.

Lady Mabel drew a deep, long breath. "Then he said nothing about
my--my singing--'Constant my heart' to him?"

"How!" exclaimed Lord Strathern. "Did you sing 'Constant my heart'
_at_ him?"

"How could I help it, papa, it came in so pat to the purpose?"

"The devil it did! It seems you did not mean to fail, by under acting
your part. It is lucky he forgot to mention it. Was there any thing
more?"

"And he said nothing about squeezing my hand in the coach," asked she,
hesitatingly, "when I showed so much fear of its overturning?"

"Squeezing your hand?"

"Or of his kissing it, after supper?"

"What! Had he got on so far? And pray, madam, what did you tell him?"

"Tell him!" said Lady Mabel. "I was acting a part, you know, papa; so
I told him his presumption had put Jenny Aiken quite out of
countenance."

"By Jove! you were acting your part with a vengeance! Why not tell
him, at once, never to kiss your hand when a third person was
present?"

"How can you talk so, papa? I meant no such thing. But what account
did he give of his leaving the house?"

"Merely that he hurried away when you unmasked the plot to him;
hastened to Elvas to get his horse, and post off to Alcantara."

"Then he said nothing of his leaping out of the window?"

"Did he leap out of the window?"

"Or of my trying to hold him back?"

"What!" exclaimed Lord Strathern, starting up. "Did he escape by
jumping out of the window, and you try to detain him?"

"The height was so great, I feared he would break his neck."

"Damn his neck!" said Lord Strathern, striding up and down the
room. "Better a neck cracked than a reputation. Things have come to a
pretty pass. You singing love-songs at him, he squeezing and kissing
your hand--perhaps going further. In these cases, women never tell the
whole truth! When he would escape by a leap from your window, you try
to keep him by strength of arm. You get on finely, madam! Three months
in the army have done wonders for you. Three months more will
accomplish you so thoroughly, that you will be fit for no other
society through life. I will tell you what, Mabel, I will not lose a
moment, but bundle you up, and pack you off to your aunt, while you
are yet worth sending!"

Between shame and indignation at this unjust assault from such a
quarter, poor Lady Mabel burst into tears, and rushed off to her room,
where she locked herself up, resolving never again to leave it until
she commenced her journey homeward. It was not long before her hasty
father repented of his coarse and violent attack on her, in a case in
which the heaviest fault was his own. He came rapping at her door, and
by dint of apologies, remonstrance, and commands, brought her out, and
induced her to spend the evening in his company. And a very
uncomfortable evening it was to both of them.

Two days after this, L'Isle rode into Elvas, and brought orders with
him that set the town astir. Such a breaking up of all the comfortable
and luxurious arrangements of messes and quarters had not been lately
seen. For Elvas was the Capua of the brigade, which had to lighten
itself of many an incumbrance, including much of what Shortridge
termed its heavy baggage, in order to bring itself to a condition to
march. There was many a woeful parting, too, and scandal says that the
ladies of Elvas might have laid the dust with their tears. But we will
leave these stories to Colonel Bradshawe.

All was confusion in the household at headquarters. Lord Strathern had
to bestir himself, to get both his brigade and himself ready to march
by one route, and Lady Mabel had to prepare for her journey by
another. It was now that Moodie's worth shone manifestly forth. The
old coach and harness were overhauled and put in order. He secured, we
believe, by impressment, another pair of mules and two postillions.
Every leaf of the _hortus siccus_ was carefully packed, and put into
the hands of an _arriero_, bound for Lisbon, and Jenny Aiken and
William, the footman, were pulled and shoved about in a way that
convinced them that it was time to be moving; yet he found plenty of
time to spur up my lord's own servants, and push forward their
preparations. Busy as Lord Strathern was, he failed not to remark
Moodie's prompt, methodical, and energetic labors. He pronounced him
the prince of quartermasters, and a heavy loss to the army. "The old
fellow would evacuate a fortress, or conduct a retreat with the
precision of a parade, and not leave even a dropped cartridge to the
enemy behind him." In fact, had Marshal Soult sworn to sack Elvas
to-morrow, Moodie could not have been more on the alert in getting
Lady Mabel ready to leave it. Not that he was afraid of a
Frenchman--he would willingly have faced him, and made his mark upon
him--but when all might be lost, and nothing gained by staying,
Moodie, like Xenophon, was proving his soldiership by a speedy, yet
orderly retreat. He was carrying off Lady Mabel, _via_ the villages of
Lisbon and London, to his stronghold of Craggy-side, where, he
trusted, she would be safe from L'Isle and Popery.

Many signs of a speedy flitting were now seen about head-quarters.
Lady Mabel sat melancholy and alone in her half-dismantled
drawing-room. To-morrow, she is again to enter the desert of Alemtejo,
on her way back to Lisbon. What a relief she would have found in busy
preparations, even for that dull journey, now robbed of all the charms
of novelty and expectation; but Moodie's industrious alacrity had
deprived her even of this resource. She was ready, and, instead of
busy preparations, had only sad thoughts to occupy her. About to part
with that father, of whom she had known more in the last three months
than in all her life before; for hitherto her's had been but a child's
knowledge of him--loving him and proud of him--for the defects she
began to see she viewed but as minor blemishes, foreign to his nature,
and due solely to that long career in which he had known no home, nor
companionship, but what he found in garrison and field; she could not
conceal from herself the new career of danger he was about to
run. Everything she heard indicated that he was now to march to fields
where war's wild work would be urged on with a fury, and on a scale
for which the last five campaigns, great as their results had been,
were but the preparation. She shuddered to think that, yet a few days
or weeks, and the veteran of near forty years of service may lie on
his last field. This, perhaps, was not her greatest grief, but she
strove to make it so, and sat gloomily and anxiously awaiting her
father's return from Elvas.

Presently she heard the sound of horses' hoofs clattering on the
pavement of the court. Rising from her melancholy posture, she was
going to meet her father, when, on opening the door, Colonel L'Isle
stood before her.

All the incidents of the last evening they had spent together,
particularly those which he had so carefully suppressed from the
narrative wrung from him, rushed upon her memory. Her folly and his
generous forbearance stood facing each other. Casting her eyes on the
floor, and grasping the handle of the door, to steady her tottering
frame, she could only gasp out, "I expected my father."

"My lord is very busy in Elvas, and so indeed was I," said L'Isle,
coolly; "but, as I march at sunrise to-morrow, I felt bound to borrow
a few minutes from duty to take my leave of Lady Mabel Stewart."

She now recollected herself enough to let go the handle of the door,
and make room for him to enter, and, by a motion of the hand, invited
him to take a seat.

Taking a chair near her, L'Isle ran his eye round the well-remembered
room. Perhaps he was thinking of his last visit here--perhaps
remarking its dismantled, comfortless condition. It was not more
changed than he was. All his earnest frankness of manner was gone. He
seemed to have borrowed a leaf from Colonel Bradshawe's book; and his
air of cool self-possession, his imperturbable manner, under the
present trying circumstances, would have excited that gentleman's
admiration, but it added a chill to the discomfort of Lady Mabel's
position.

Had he been angry, indignant, haughty, or sullen, it would have been
an infinite relief to her. She might have known how to deal with him,
and perchance have soon brought him round to a very different
mood. Now L'Isle evidently waited with cool politeness to hear some
sound from her lips; and she at length stammered out, "I am very sorry
that you are going--that is, that papa and all of you are going so
soon."

"Our pleasant sojourn in Elvas is over!" said L'Isle, carelessly, "and
Elvas is a pleasant place. Your stay here, too, has been quite an
episode in winter quarters. We cannot thank you too much for the
enlivening influence of your presence among us. I, for one, will ever
carry with me a vivid recollection of it."

Lady Mabel bowed. How cold and formal did this sound in her ears.

"To do ourselves justice," continued L'Isle, "some of us have not been
remiss in our efforts to enable you to pass your time pleasantly. I
dare say now, were I to hold myself to a strict account, I could
reckon up many an hour stolen from the dull routine of duty to devote
it to Lady Mabel's service."

"I am surely deeply indebted to you for the hours you so borrowed to
bestow on me," Lady Mabel answered, much at a loss what to say, and
looking every way but at L'Isle. "When I look back, I cannot but be
surprised at the amount of my gains, the knowledge and amusement I
have crowded into three short months, and chiefly through you."

"That time has passed, however," said L'Isle; "I can no longer be at
hand to afford you amusement. And as for knowledge, although older
than you, and knowing more of life, the world, and perchance of books,
I doubt whether you have been the greatest gainer in our intercourse.
But feeling a deep interest in you, I sincerely hope that you may gain
one precious lesson through me."

"What is that?" asked Lady Mabel eagerly--for the first time looking
fully at him.

"Never again heartlessly to throw away a friend!!" L'Isle said this
more gravely than bitterly. Then rising, he bowed respectfully but
formally, and was turning to go away.

Can she let him go without one word? But what can she say? She, at
length, gasped out, "It was papa's doing."

"Your father's doing!" exclaimed L'Isle, with well-feigned
astonishment. "Then Lady Mabel is an automaton," he added scornfully,
"and I, blockhead that I am, never found it out till now! But I am
thankful for wisdom even that comes too late. I now know Lady Mabel
and myself."

Was not Lady Mabel now disarmed and defenceless? Completely at his
mercy? By no means! In this extremity she sheltered herself behind her
strongest defences. She covered her face with her hands, and burst
into tears.

Was ever man more embarrassed than L'Isle? His proud, scornful air,
vanished like a snow-flake in the fire--and forgetting all that had
passed, he was seizing her hands to draw them away from her face, when
old Moodie abruptly entered the room, and called out, "Colonel L'Isle,
you are wanted in Elvas?"

"What the devil are you doing here?" said L'Isle, turning round
quickly, and placing himself so as to hide Lady Mabel's face.

"My duty," said the old man sternly, "and they have sent for you to
attend to yours!" for he saw that something had gone wrong; and he
longed to get L'Isle out of the house.

Looking into the passage, L'Isle now saw an orderly, whom Moodie had
officiously brought up-stairs from the door, and he hurried out to
receive the man's message, and send him off. This done, he hastily
re-entered the room to speak to Lady Mabel. But he was too late! The
bird had flown, and her old Scotch terrier was covering her retreat,
shutting the door of the next room behind her, and spitefully locking
it in L'Isle's face.

At sunrise, the next morning, L'Isle marched his regiment out of
Elvas. Setting his face sternly northward, he never once looked back
on the serried ranks which followed him, until the embattled heights
of La Lippe had hidden Elvas and its surroundings. Turning his back
upon the past, he strove to look but to the future; but at the very
moment of this resolve, memory cheated him, and he caught himself
repeating a line of Lady Mabel's song:

  "All else forgotten, War is now my theme."

and the thrilling music of her intonation seemed to swell upon his
ear. He hastily exchanged his quotation for a greater poet's words:

  "He that is truly dedicate to war,
   Hath no self-love."

If it be possible to forget, he will have ample opportunity, amidst
the crash of armies and the crumbling of an empire, to erase from his
memory Elvas, and its "episode in winter quarters." From the heights
of Traz os Montes, Wellington was now to make an eagle's swoop upon
the north of Spain, and a lion's spring upon the herd, driven into the
basin of Vittoria. The march now begun was to lead thence to the
blood-stained passes of the Pyrennees, to Bayonne, Orthes, and
Toulouse, and later, to Paris, from the field of Waterloo. But who
shall measure, step by step, over conquered enemies and fallen
friends, this long eventful road?

  "To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds,
   That is the lot of heroes upon earth!"

CONCLUSION.

    He that commends me to mine own content,
  Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
  I to the world am like a drop of water,
  That in the ocean seeks another drop;
  Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
  Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.

                                  Comedy of Errors.

Three eventful years have passed, and a general peace is giving rest
to exhausted Europe. The war has cut off many a brave man; but it
remained for peace to terminate the military career of a rising
soldier in L'Isle's person; and sad to say, before he was either Major
general or knight of the Bath; though sought in many a dangerous path,
he had not found his golden spurs.

Regiments have been disbanded, his comrades are scattered, and he
himself has nothing to do, not even the poor resource of having to
study economy on half-pay, or of looking for more additional means to
eke out a living.

It is the curse of those entirely engrossing pursuits, which excite
all our enthusiasm, and task every energy, and of which the
statesman's and the soldier's callings are the best examples, that,
when they fail us, we can find no substitute. All things else are, by
comparison, stale, flat, and unprofitable. Can the brandy drinker
cheer himself with draughts of small beer? Screw up his nervous
energies to their accustomed tone with slops?

Tired to death of fox-hunting, pleasant shooting, and country
neighbors; all the means of excitement around him exhausted, L'Isle
lounged in the library at C----d Hall, with half a dozen open but
discarded volumes before him, revolving in his mind all possible means
of occupation. At one time he would resolve to travel the world over,
and get up a personal narrative, attractive as that of Humboldt, and
views of nature, that should look through nature's surface to the
recognition of Nature's God, whom the philosopher seems never to have
found in all his works. At another time, in order more effectively to
counteract the ill effects, on mind and habits, of the soldier's
exciting and unsettled life, he resolves to subject himself to still
severer regimen: not to go rambling about the world, an idling
philosopher, but to tie himself down to one spot, and take violently
to a course of high farming; grow the largest turnips, breed the
fattest South-downs, and the heaviest Devonshires, and carry off
agricultural prizes as substitutes for additional Waterloo medals.

But this was too severe a contrast to his late mode of life, and the
prospect soon disgusted him utterly. Having strong influence to back
him, he now thought of getting a seat in Parliament, and for a moment
the prophetic cries of 'Hear! hear!' arose from both sides of a full
House of Commons. But he knew that the occasion, even more than the
man, makes the orator; and in 'this weak piping time of peace,' these
cost-counting, debt-paying days, he foresaw no occasion that could
call forth the thunders of Demosthenes or Burke.--But although a new
light shines in upon him, and he suddenly makes up his mind that,
since he can no longer take the field, because all the world is tired
of fighting, and yet more of paying the bills run up in that expensive
diversion, he will write the narrative of the campaigns in which he
had taken part, without letting the '_quorum pars magna fui_' fill too
large a place in the picture.--Where can he find so much of the
materials needed in the construction of his work as in London? So to
London he went.

The season was at its height, and the town was full. L'Isle's object
required that he should not only examine many musty papers, but see
many persons; as some of his gayer friends soon found him out, and
induced him to look in upon the inner circles of London fashionable
life, to which his early and long absence from England had kept him a
stranger.

It so happened that Lord Strathern had come up from his moors, where
the winter had got too cold for him (the climate had changed much
since he was a boy), to visit the clubs and meet old comrades. But
these proved too much for the old veteran, who soon had to shut
himself up, in order to stave off an attack of his old enemy, the
gout. He would not, however, permit Lady Mabel to stand the siege with
him. The consequence was, that not long after L'Isle had come up to
London, he found himself in one of Lady D----'s thronged rooms, within
four steps of Lady Mabel.

In three years she had become, if we may be pardoned the bull, more
like herself than ever, for she was now all that she had promised to
be. She shone out in a richer and riper beauty, and a more sedate and
womanly deportment set it off, retaining not the least trace of that
somewhat cavalier manner she had picked up in the brigade. She was
more than three years wiser, and certainly more dangerous than ever.

L'Isle had long and studiously schooled himself to the conviction that
his fair and fascinating companion in Elvas was, after all, but a
heartless woman. Yet his vanity, to say nothing of any other feeling,
had never quite gotten over the rude shock it had received on Mrs.
Shortridge's great night there. His first thought was to withdraw from
the dangerous neighborhood. But he blushed at his own cowardice; and
the moment after, having caught her eye, he, self-confident, made his
way through the crowd, and greeted her politely as an old
acquaintance. It was plain that she was a little nervous on his
approach; her lips were compressed for a moment, and she drew more
than one deep breath, while watching him closely, and carefully
modeling her manner by his. Yet no stranger could have inferred, from
word or look, that they had not met for years, still less that they
had ever met on terms of intimacy. If L'Isle needlessly prolonged the
conversation, to the annoyance of the gentlemen at her elbow, his sole
object was to prove to her, beyond the possibility of doubt, by his
easy self-possession, that he had now, at least, attained to a sublime
indifference where she was concerned.

The ice once broken, accident seemed to throw them frequently into the
same company. L'Isle doubtless needed relaxation from his historical
labors; and a London season had at least the attraction of novelty for
him. He was, too, just the man to win friends among the ladies; yet he
still made it a point, whenever he met Lady Mabel, to bestow on her a
few minutes cold attention and indifferent notice, for old
acquaintance sake.

Lady Mabel stood in no need of these attentions. It was not her first
season; and many a butterfly, that hovered about that garden which
blooms in winter at the West-End, had hailed with delight the
reappearance of this rare flower. And she liked to have them buzzing
about her; it was her due, and yielded pleasant pastime. Yet while
busiest dealing sentiment, jest, and repartee among them, she now had
always an ear and a word for L'Isle, when he condescended to bestow a
few minutes cold consideration on her.

Her gentlemen in waiting wondered at her having so much to say to
L'Isle. She seemed to be under an obligation to be at leisure for him;
and Sir Charles Moreton, who was argus-eyed where Lady Mabel was
concerned, ventured to ask: "What pleasure can you find in talking to
this austere soldier? His smile is a sneer; he warms only to grow
caustic, and his cynical air betrays how little he cares even for
you."

"Were you ever clogged with sweet things?" asked Lady Mabel. "At times
I tire of bonbons, and long for vinegar, salt and pepper. My austere
friend deals in these articles."

She seemed to have found a special use for him, treating him as a
complete thinking machine, of high powers of observation, inflection,
thought and reason, but not susceptible of aught that savored of
feeling, sentiment or passion. She quietly threw the mantle of Mentor
over his shoulders, deferred to his judgment, had recourse to him as a
store-house of knowledge; and seemed so fully impressed with the fact
that he had a head, as utterly to forget the probability of his having
a heart. With a strange perversity, L'Isle was at once flattered and
annoyed at the use she made of him. It was an unequal game he was
playing, like a moth fluttering round a candle. His temper began to be
worn threadbare, and oftener than ever he repeated to himself, "She is
a heartless woman!"

In this mood L'Isle was listening, with a curled lip, to an animated
discussion between Lady Mabel, Sir Charles Moreton, and another
gentleman, as to the merits of a new actress, a dramatic meteor, then
briefly eminent on the London boards. The Honorable Mr. L----, who
was a _savant_ in the small sciences that cater to amusement,
pronounced her the Siddons of the day; Lady Mabel called her a ranter,
then, as if alarmed at her temerity, appealed as usual to L'Isle.

"No one can be a better judge of acting than Lady Mabel," said
L'Isle. "But for her opinion, I would call your favorite an
indifferently good actress."

Thus to "damn with faint praise," displeased Mr. L---- more than
positive censure, and he exclaimed: "Then you never saw her play Jane
Shore. The illusion is perfect. The house is deceived into forgetting
the drama, to witness the living and dying agonies of the desolate
penitent. Who can equal her?"

"Many," answered L'Isle; "and Lady Mabel can do better."

"Lady Mabel! She doubtless excels in everything. But I never saw her
act."

"I have," said L'Isle bitterly. "The illusion of Mrs. ----'s acting is
limited to the spectators. Lady Mabel deceives him who acts with her."

Lady Mabel turned pale, and then red, while the two gentlemen stared
at her and L'Isle alternately. Suddenly exclaiming, "There is my
friend, Mrs. B----. I have not seen her for a month. I must go and
speak to her," she accepted the arm of the _savant_ in small things,
and hastened after her friend, who had appeared so opportunely.

"You set little value on Lady Mabel's favors," said Sir Charles,
looking inquisitively at L'Isle. "You have certainly offended her
greatly."

"Do you think so?" said L'Isle coldly. "Then I suppose I must
apologize and beg my peace."

"If you do it successfully," said his companion, "I will be glad of a
lesson from you in the art."

L'Isle was angry with himself. Not that he felt that he owed Lady
Mabel any amends. But he had never until now made the slightest
allusion to certain scenes in the past. Pride had forbidden it. And he
was still reproaching himself with his want of self-control, when, on
entering another room, he saw Lady Mabel seated between two old
ladies, having ensconced herself there to get rid of the small
_savant_.

She no longer looked discomposed or angry, nor did she turn her eyes
away on his approach. She almost seemed to wish to speak to him. So
he offered his arm, and they walked toward the room he had just left.

"I know that you are too proud," she said, "to ask any pardon for the
attack you made on me just now. So I wish to tell you that I have
already forgiven it."

"That is truly generous," said L'Isle, with haughty irony. "You prove
the adage false which says, 'The injurer never forgives.'"

"Say you so? I see then that you have gone back years to dig up old
offences. Although I remember, to repent of them, I trusted that you
would have willingly forgiven and forgot my folly, or only recall it
to laugh at it. I know now," she said, stealing a look at him, "that
you are of an unforgetting, unforgiving temper." Then looking away,
she added, "I thought better of you once."

"There are some things," answered L'Isle, but in a softened tone, "not
to be forgotten, nor easily forgiven."

"I assure you," said Lady Mabel, with the air of a penitent, "I have
been terribly ashamed of myself ever since. Had I known that you still
viewed my thoughtless conduct as a serious wrong to you, I would
willingly have made you any apology, any reparation."

"Apologies would hardly reach the evil," said L'Isle. "But any
reparation! That is a broad term."

"Any, I mean, that you ought to ask, or I to make."

"There would be no absolute impropriety in my asking a good deal,"
said L'Isle, in tones that reminded Lady Mabel of some witching
moments in Elvas, "I will not make the blunder of asking too little,"
he added resolutely. "Let me first ask when you will be at home
to-morrow--at three?"

"Certainly at three; more certainly at two," she answered in a low
tone.

"And most certainly at one," said he joyously. "I like your
superlative degree of comparison."

"I only meant," she said, yet more confused, "that I am more likely to
be at home alone at two." And turning quickly away, she took a vacant
seat beside one of her friends, to whom, while fanning herself, she
complained of the heated room. She seemed, indeed, quite overcome by
it, which accounted for her labored breathing and heightened color.

"After all," said Lady Mabel, some days after the morning on which
L'Isle found her at home alone, "I was neither so good an actress, nor
so great a hypocrite as you took me for. My offence was not so much
that I simulated, as that I ceased to dissemble."

L'Isle readily embraced the faith that she was no actress but a true
woman, nor did he ever waver from it. But she did not always find so
easy a convert. Old Moodie, true to his nature, baffled all her
efforts to convince him of his errors. It is true that he became in
time, somewhat reconciled to L'Isle, but to his dying day he continued
to laud that special providence, which had snatched Lady Mabel from
the land of idolatry, at the very last moment before her perversion to
Rome.

Lady Mabel was not the woman to forget old friends; and now, that she
could recur with pleasure to her recollections of Elvas, she sought
out that companion who had so amiably filled the part of duenna and
chaperon. She and Mrs. Shortridge fought all their battles over again,
by retracing, step by step, varied excursions and toilsome journey,
while enjoying all the comforts of an English home. But it never does
to tell all that we do, still less, to lay open the spirit in which we
do it. Lady Mabel never let Mrs. Shortridge fully into the secret
history of the last dark treacherous scene in the episode in winter
quarters.

Lord Strathern was much pleased to find that L'Isle had greatly
modified his opinion, as to the mechanical nature of an army, and
hoped in time to dispel certain other erroneous notions, to which he
had formerly clung so stubbornly. It is not known whether or not
L'Isle ever finished his narrative of the Peninsular campaigns. It is
certain that he never published it. The author often labors harder
than the ploughman; and when a man is made happy, he becomes lazy. Let
the wretched toil to mend his lot, or to forget it.