"Ansdell, you're wanted!" "Who wants me?" "Urquhart." At least I was almost sure that was the name. There was a good deal more of singing and playing; then "God save the Queen," with a full chorus and military hand. That grand old tune is always exciting; it was so, especially, here to-night. Likely to have war. If so, a year hence, where might be all these gay young fellows, whispering and flirting with pretty girls, walked about the room by proud mothers and sisters! I never thought of it, never understood it, till now--I who used to ridicule and despise soldiers! These mothers--these sisters!--they might not have felt it for themselves, but my heart felt bursting. I could hardly stand. We were some time in getting out to the door through the long line of epaulets and swords, the owners of which--I beg their pardon, but cannot help saying it--were not too civil; until a voice behind cried:-- "Do make way there--how do you expect those ladies to push past you?" And a courteous helping hand was held out to Mrs. Granton, as any gentleman ought to any lady--especially an old lady. "Doctor, is that you? What a scramble this is! Now, will you assist my young friend here?" Then--and not till then, I am positive--he recognised me. Something has happened to him--something has altered him very much. I felt certain of that on the very first glimpse I caught of his face. It shocked me so that I never said "how d'ye do?" I never even put out my hand. Oh that I had! He scarcely spoke, and we lost him in the crowd almost immediately. There was a great confusion of carriages. Colin ran hither and thither, but could not find ours. Some minutes after, we were still out in the bitter night; Mrs. Granton talking to somebody, I standing by myself. I felt very desolate and cold. "How long have you had that cough?" I knew who it was, and turned round. We shook hands. "You had no business out here on such a night. Why did you come?" Somehow, the sharpness did not offend me, though it was rare in Doctor Urquhart, who is usually extremely gentle in his way of speech. I told him my cough was nothing--it was indeed as much nervousness as cold, though of course I did not confess that--and then another fit came on, leaving me all shaking and trembling. "You ought not to have come: is there nobody to take better care of you, child?--No--don't speak. You must submit, if you please." He took off a plaid he had about him, and wrapped me up in it, close and warm. I resisted a little, and then yielded.-- "You must!" What could one do but yield? Protesting again, I was bidden to "hold my tongue." "Never mind me!--I am used to all weathers;--I'm not a little delicate creature like you." I said, laughing, I was a great deal stronger than he had any notion of--but as he had begun our acquaintance by taking professional care of me, he might just as well continue it; and it certainly was a little colder here than it was that night at the Cedars. "Yes."