‘No, no, no;’ the men were all furious. ‘He’s the thief, the mean hound. Let’s settle it ourselves. A court-martial, a barrack-room court-martial, sergeant.’ ‘Well, have it your own way. Here, Snaggs, Cusack, Hippisley, and Muldoon, you’re the four oldest soldiers in the company; go into my bunk and talk it over. Say what’s to be done with him.’ They came back presently. ‘He’s guilty. Three dozen with the sling of his own rifle; that’s our sentence--’ ‘Which I approve,’ said the colour-sergeant, and the informal punishment was forthwith administered in a way which would have gladdened the heart of the fiercest old martinet who ever told the drummer to lay on. Herbert heard all about it, as soon as he came out of hospital, and was not sorry for the villain who had so nearly led him into a terrible scrape. Had the case been proved against him it would have ruined him utterly, for now at length promotion, humble enough, but still advancement, was close at hand. Within a week or two the regimental orders contained a notification that Private Herbert Larkins, of F company, was appointed a lance-corporal. This raised him at once above the malevolence of enemies such as Jubbock. But it gave him work enough for half a dozen. The lance-corporal, the junior grade of non-commissioned officer, is a sort of general utility man, whose duties begin at daylight and do not end at night. He must be always clean and well dressed, or adieu to hope of further promotion. He must be at the beck and call of the company sergeants, and ready to fly for the sergeant-major. He must be peremptory yet judicious with the privates, whom, although he was one himself yesterday, he is called upon now to command. Difficult, not to say arduous, as were his functions, Herbert managed to discharge them to the satisfaction of his superiors, and soon became known in the regiment as a smart and intelligent young man. One evening it fell to his lot to take the ‘order book’ round for the perusal of the officers of the company. Ernest Farrington was one of them, and in due course Herbert came to his quarters. He knocked and heard the usual ‘Come in.’ ‘Orders, sir.’ ‘Orders! All right. One moment--’ ‘Yes, sir; that’s all I know about it,’ went on young Farrington, in continuation evidently of a previous talk. His interlocutor was Major Cavendish-Diggle. ‘You don’t know what became of Lady Farrington? Where is she?’ ‘At a private asylum--Dr. Plum’s, at Greystone, the other end of the county, you know.’ ‘To be sure. It must have given Sir Rupert great annoyance. But now it’s all happily settled, of course?’ Diggle was just then making the running for Miss Farrington, and wished to be quite certain that there was no fear of future disinheritance. ‘Absolutely,’ said Ernest. ‘The crazy old creature won’t be heard of again, probably.’