“No going abroad this year, my dear,” said the General, looking the while less warlike than usual; “glad of it--what? A German watering-place--bah! an association of blackguards in an overgrown village, robbing the public to soft music in the open air. No, my dear, we’ll get to Newton-Hollows before the strawberries are done--and I’m glad of it. We’ll let this great house--you’re tired of it, Blanche, and so am I; what’s the use of a house all up and down-stairs? You should have seen my bungalow at Simlah--a man could get about in that and hear himself speak. Well, we’ll put down two of the carriages and one of the footmen--that pompous one. Zounds, if he had stayed a week longer I must have bastinadoed him--and we’ll start Poulard: confound him, he never gives one a dinner fit to eat, and wouldn’t dress a cutlet for Mrs. Delaval, only the day before yesterday, because we dined out--I’ll trounce him before he goes. Then, my dear, we’ll keep your scrubby pony for the little carriage, and ‘Water King’ can go down home with the others, and you’ll ride a deal more there than in London, Blanche. Manage? I’ll manage--how d’ye mean? I’m only a steward till Charlie comes back. I must write to Charlie by this mail, and we’ll have him safe and sound from the Kaffirs--and rejoicings when he comes home, and a--who knows what?”--(Mary Delaval got up at this juncture, went to fetch her work, and sat majestically down to it, as the General went on.)--“Yes, we’ll make it all right when Charlie comes back. Let me see, we ought to have a mail to-day. Zounds, these servants they read all the news--money market, foreign intelligence, every one of their own cursed advertisements for places they won’t keep six months--and then, if I ask whether the paper’s come, ‘Please, sir, it’s not ironed.’ Ironed! ’Gad, I’ll iron them--wish I’d my Kitmugar here--bamboozle them well on the soles of their feet--there’s no liberty in this country. Blanche, ring the bell, there’s a dear--oh, here it comes;” and the General’s further strictures were cut short by the entrance of his old, pompous servant, who laid the paper out for his master’s perusal with a strange air of mingled pity and concern. The General put on his spectacles, deliberately unfolded the sheet, and after a glance at the money market, in which consols had, as usual, fluctuated the fraction of a fraction, he turned to the well-known column in which the budget of the African mail was likely to be detailed; Blanche leaning over his shoulder the while, and Mary watching them with an eager glance that seemed almost prescient of evil. Suddenly the General’s face flushed up to a purple hue. “Engagement with the Kaffirs,” he muttered; “gallant repulse of the enemy--capture--loss--strong position--brilliant success of the Light Brigade--O my boy! my boy!” And, forgetful of all around, the old man leaned his head upon the table and gave way to a passion of grief that was frightful to contemplate.