“It fits you like a sentry-box,” said Maurice, as he surveyed me with a lantern. “The skirts separate behind in the most picturesque manner; and when you button the collar, it will keep your head up so high that the devil a bit you’ll see except the blessed moon. It’s a thousand pities you haven’t the three-cocked hat with the feather trimming. If you wouldn’t frighten the French, my name’s not Maurice. Turn about here till I admire you. If you only saw yourself in a glass, you’d never join the dragoons again. And look now, don’t be exposing yourself, for I wouldn’t have those blue facings destroyed for a week’s pay.” “Ah, then, it’s yourself is the darling, Doctor, dear!” said a voice behind me. I turned round; it was Mickey Free, who was standing with a most profound admiration of Maurice beaming in every feature of his face. “It’s yourself has a joke for every hour o’ the day.” “Get to the rear, Mike, get to the rear with the cattle; this is no place for you or them.” “Good-night, Mickey,” said Maurice. “Good-night, your honor,” muttered Mike to himself; “may I never die till you set a leg for me.” “Are you dressed for the ball?” said Maurice, fastening the white tape upon my arm. “There now, my boy, move on, for I think I hear Picton’s voice; not that it signifies now, for he’s always in a heavenly temper when any one’s going to be killed. I’m sure he’d behave like an angel, if he only knew the ground was mined under his feet.” “Charley, Charley!” called out O’Shaughnessy, in a suppressed voice, “come up quickly!” “No. 24, John Forbes--here! Edward Gillespie--here!” “Who leads this party, Major O’Shaughnessy?” “Mr. Beauclerc, sir,” replied O’Shaughnessy, pushing me forward by the arm while he spoke. “Keep your people together, sir; spare the powder, and trust to your cold iron.” He grasped my hand within his iron grip, and rode on. “Who was it, Dennis?” said I. “Don’t you know him, Charley? That was Picton.” CHAPTER XXXV. THE STORMING OF CIUDAD RODRIGO. Whatever the levity of the previous moment, the scene before us now repressed it effectually. The deep-toned bell of the cathedral tolled seven, and scarcely were its notes dying away in the distance, when the march of the columns was heard stealing along the ground. A low murmuring whisper ran along the advanced files of the forlorn hope; stocks were loosened; packs and knapsacks thrown to the ground; each man pressed his cap more firmly down upon his brow, and with lip compressed and steadfast eye, waited for the word to move.