“And devilish well you did it, too!” added Picton, for it was he who recognized me. “I saw him, my lord, spring down from the parapet upon a French gunner, and break his sword as he cleft his helmet in two. Yes, yes; I shall not forget in a hurry how you laid about you with the rammer of the gun! By Jove! that’s it he has in his hand!” While Picton ran thus hurriedly on, Lord Wellington’s calm but stern features never changed their expression. The looks of those around were bent upon me with interest and even admiration; but his evinced nothing of either. Reverting at once to my absence from my post, he asked me,-- “Did you obtain leave for a particular service, sir?” “No, my lord. It was simply from an accidental circumstance that--” “Then, report yourself at your quarters as under arrest.” “But, my lord--” said Picton. Lord Wellington waited not for the explanation, but walked firmly forward, and strode into the church. The staff followed in silence, Picton turning one look of kindness on me as he went, as though to say, “I’ll not forget you.” “The devil take it,” cried I, as I found myself once more alone, “but I’m unlucky! What would turn out with other men the very basis of their fortune, is ever with me the source of ill-luck.” It was evident, from Picton’s account, that I had distinguished myself in the breach; and yet nothing was more clear than that my conduct had displeased the commander-in-chief. Picturing him ever to my mind’s eye as the _beau idéal_ of a military leader, by some fatality of fortune I was continually incurring his displeasure, for whose praise I would have risked my life. “And this confounded costume--What, in the name of every absurdity, could have ever persuaded me to put it on. What signifies it, though a man should cover himself with glory, if in the end he is to be laughed at? Well, well, it matters not much, now my soldiering’s over! And yet I could have wished that the last act of my campaigning had brought with it pleasanter recollections.” As thus I ruminated, the click of the soldier’s musket near aroused me: Picton was passing out. A shade of gloom and depression was visible upon his features, and his lip trembled as he muttered some sentences to himself. “Ha! Captain--I forget the name. Yes, Captain O’Malley; you are released from arrest. General Crawfurd has spoken very well of you, and Lord Wellington has heard the circumstances of your case.” “Is it General Crawfurd, then, that is wounded, sir?” said I, eagerly. Picton paused for a moment, while, with an effort, he controlled his features into their stern and impassive expression, then added hurriedly and almost harshly:-- Yes, sir; badly wounded through the arm and in the lung. He mentioned you to the notice of the commander-in-chief, and your application for leave is granted. In fact, you are to have the distinguished honor of carrying back despatches. There, now; you had better join your brigade.”