“No,” said Monck, coolly replacing the cigar in his mouth and drawing the end of it into a bright coal. “No; no ill news _of_ your friends! ill news _for_ your friends, however?” “What do you mean, Major Monck?” “Colonel Rosenthal, you are a brave man?” said Monck, semi-interrogatively. “My friends think so.” “And your foes _know_ so.” Justin bowed his head in acknowledgment of this compliment. “Well, Colonel Rosenthal, _as_ a brave man, you have no fear of death,” said Monck, coolly throwing away his stump of cigar and lighting another. “At least I have faced it often enough,” replied Justin. “And faced it fearlessly, no doubt.” “I trust so. But really I do not know to what this talk is tending.” “No, you really do not seem to know. And that is the worst of it. This breaking of bad news is a very difficult matter, especially when the hearer does not help the speaker by jumping half way to the conclusion. But to return to our mutton—our _dead_ mutton! So you have faced death, and faced it fearlessly; death in the field, and death in the hospital; death sharp and sudden as a sabre stroke, and death slow and painful as the gnawing of the worm that never dies!” “I have looked upon death in all these aspects,” answered Colonel Rosenthal, gravely. “And he has no terrors for you— ‘For come he slow or come he fast, He is but death that comes at last,’ I suppose you think, eh, Colonel Rosenthal?” “I have said so. But I would be glad to know why you press these questions upon me.” “Now, do you see, I don’t think you would be glad to know? ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ my dear fellow, most especially in your case. Take some more brandy.” “No, thanks; no more for me. Tell me to what all this talk tends, Major Monck.” “‘Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till you approve the deed,’ I _might_ say, only I can’t, because, you see, the ‘deed’ can’t be done without your knowledge, and, when it is done, you will be very far past ‘approving’ it!—Really, this Old London Dock is very much finer than the Otard. Let me persuade you to try it.” “No! Tell me what you mean by this strange discourse.” “Well, if you insist upon it, I will. Besides, it is really time to tell you. But light your cigar first. We can smoke while we talk. Well, then, I mean that I shall have to hang you in about an hour from this.” CHAPTER XX. THE WHISPER. He speaketh low, he speaketh calm, “Ride fast, my master, ride, Or e’er within the broadening dark The narrow shadows hide, Ere night I shall be near to thee— Now ride, my master, ride— Ere night, as parted spirits cleave To mortals too beloved to leave, I shall be by thy side!”—E. B. BROWNING. “Yes, Colonel Rosenthal, I shall have to hang you in about an hour from this.”