“A regular diplomatic touch, I call that note,” said he, as he reread it to himself with much complacency. “Lack-ington thinks me a 'flat;' then let any one read that, and say if the fellow that wrote it is a fool.” And now he sealed and directed his epistle, having very nearly addressed it to Grog, instead of to Captain Davis. “His temper won't be angelic when he gets it,” muttered he, “but I'll be close to Liege by that time.” And with this very reassuring reflection he jumped into bed again, determining to remain awake till daybreak. Wearied out at last with watching, Annesley Beecher fell off asleep, and so soundly, too, that it was not till twice spoken to he could arouse and awaken. “Eh, what is it, Rivers?” cried he, as he saw the trim training-groom at his side. “Anything wrong with the horse?” “No, sir, nothing; _he's_ all right, anyhow.” “What is it, then; any one from town looking for us?” “No, sir, nobody whatever. It's the Captain himself--” “What of him? Is he ill?” “Sound as a roach, sir; he's many a mile off by this. Says he to me, 'Rivers,' says he, 'when you gets back to the Tirlemont, give this note to Mr. Beecher; he 'll tell you afterwards what's to be done. Only,' says he, 'don't forget to rub a little of the white oils on that near hock; very weak,' says he; 'be sure it's very weak, so as not to blister him.' Ain't he a wonderful man, sir, to be thinking o' that at such a moment?” “Draw the curtain, there,--let me have more light,” cried Beecher, eagerly, as he opened the small and crumpled piece of paper. The contents were in pencil, and very brief,-- “I 'm off through the Ardennes towards Treves; come up to Aix with my daughter, and wait there till you hear from me. There 's a vacant 'troop' in the Horse Guards Blue this morning. Rivers can tell you all.--Yours, C. D.” “What has happened, Rivers?” cried he, in intense anxiety. “Tell me at once.” “Sir, it don't take long to tell. It did n't take very long to do. It was three, or maybe half-past, this morning, the Captain comes to my room, and says, 'Rivers, get up; be lively,' says he, 'dress yourself, and go over to Jonesse, that fellow as has the shooting-gallery, give him this note; he 'll just read it, and answer it at once; then run over to Burton's and order a coupé, with two smart horses, to be here at five; after that come back quickly, for I want a few things packed up.' He made a sign to me that all was to be 'dark,' and so away I went, and before three quarters of an hour was back here again. At five to the minute the carriage came to the corner of the park, and we stepped out quietly; and when we reached it, there was Jonesse inside, with a tidy little box on his knee. 'Oh, is that it?' said I, for I knowed what that box meant,--'is that it?'