“If I may venture, sir,” said Colonel Manton, and proffered his arm. The other accepted it to mount the stile. It was an ungraceful business, and, once over, he stood, with his hands to his sides, vibrating heavily, like a worn-out engine, to his own respirations. Presently he was sufficiently recovered to speak. “A damned obstruction--a damned obstruction! Cannot I leave my carriage a moment to walk round by the water but this annoyance must appear in my path?” “A villainous stile,” said the Colonel. “We will indict it for a trespass.” He was a reasonable man, and he felt the absurdity of the complaint. But, to his surprise, his sarcasm missed fire. “Do so, do so,” said the old gentleman, and took his arm again, as it might have been his own walking-stick. They went on together, and in a little the stranger had opened a conversation with all the effrontery in the world. “My boy, what’s your rank?” said he. “I perceive you are a soldier.” The officer stared, and drew himself up. “Colonel Manton, sir, at your service,” he answered distantly. He was surprised; but the man was old, near seventy by his appearance, and very possibly from his cut a retired veteran like himself. Familiarity from a general, say, would be pardonable, and even kindly. Besides, he did not dislike the implied suggestion of juniority. “Hey!” said the stranger--“retired?” “Yes, sir, retired.” “Brevet rank?” “Brevet be damned!” said Colonel Manton hotly. “I owe my promotion, sir, if you wish to know, to Waterloo.” The stranger glanced at him with a curiously sly look, and pinched the arm on which his own fingers rested. “What!” he said, “were you there?” “I had the honour, sir,” said the Colonel grandiloquently, “of playing my little part in that Homeric contest.” “Whose division, hey?” “Picton’s--Pack’s brigade. You are a little--you will excuse my saying it--particular.” “Certainly I will, my boy. Wounded--hey?” A distinct flush suffused the Colonel’s cheek. “Wounded--yes,” he replied shortly. The old fellow nudged him confidentially. “Tell me,” he said--“how?” “Look here--you must forgive me, you know,” exploded the Colonel; “but I must point out that we are strangers. Still--as a fellow-campaigner--if that is the case--may I ask, sir, if _you_ were at Waterloo?” The other laughed enjoyingly. “_Was_ I?” he said. “To be sure I was. You had all good reason for knowing it.” Colonel Manton’s eyes opened. Here was a momentous implication. Evidently he had to do with some great general of division, though the boast sounded a little extravagant and unmilitary. He ran over in his mind a dozen possible names, but without success. And then the thought occurred to him: “Good reason for knowing it? What the devil! Is it possible he was on the other side?”