“I'm glad to see, Captain,” said the old squire, “that modern fashion of deserting the claret-jug has not invaded your mess. I own I like a man who lingers over his wine.” “We have no pretext for leaving it, remember that,” said Stapylton, smiling. “Very true. The _placeus uxor_ is sadly out of place in a soldier's life. Your married officer is but a sorry comrade; besides, how is a fellow to be a hero to the enemy who is daily bullied by his wife?” “I think you said that you had served?” interposed Stapylton. “No. My son was in the army; he is so still, but holds a Governorship in the West Indies. He it was who knew this Barrington we were speaking of.” “Just so,” said Stapylton, drawing his chair closer, so as to converse more confidentially. “You may imagine what very uneventful lives we country gentlemen live,” said the old squire, “when we can continue to talk over one memorable case for something like twenty years, just because one of the parties to it was our neighbor.” “You appear to have taken a lively interest in it,” said Stapylton, who rightly conjectured it was a favorite theme with the old squire. “Yes. Barrington and my son were friends; they came down to my house together to shoot; and with all his eccentricities--and they were many--I liked Mad George, as they called him.” “He was a good fellow, then?” “A thoroughly good fellow, but the shyest that ever lived; to all outward seeming rough and careless, but sensitive as a woman all the while. He would have walked up to a cannon's mouth with a calm step, but an affecting story would bring tears to his eyes; and then, to cover this weakness, which he was well ashamed of, he 'd rush into fifty follies and extravagances. As he said himself to me one day, alluding to some feat of rash absurdity, 'I have been taking another inch off the dog's tail,'--he referred to the story of Alcibiades, who docked his dog to take off public attention from his heavier transgressions.” “There was no truth in these accusations against him?” “Who knows? George was a passionate fellow, and he 'd have made short work of the man that angered him. I myself never so entirely acquitted him as many who loved him less. At all events, he was hardly treated; he was regularly hunted down. I imagine he must have made many enemies, for witnesses sprung up against him on all sides, and he was too proud a fellow to ask for one single testimony in his favor! If ever a man met death broken-hearted, he did!” A pause of several minutes occurred, after which the old squire resumed,--