"Captain Molineux--gentlemen!" resumed Raymond, with greater emphasis. "He is getting warm on the subject," observed Middlemore. "Have a care, Molineux, that the butt does not _churn_ until in the end it becomes the _butter_." "Ha! ha! ha!" vociferated St. Clair, "good, excellent, the best you ever made, Middlemore." "Gentlemen!" persevered Raymond, in a tone, and with a gesture, of impatience, "this trifling will be deeply regretted by you all to-morrow; I repeat," he pursued, when he found he had at length succeeded in procuring silence, "you have long been pleased to select me as your butt, and while this was confined to my personal appearance, painful as I have sometimes found your humor, I could still endure it; but when I perceive those whom I have looked upon as friends and brothers, casting imputations upon my courage, I may be excused for feeling offended. You have succeeded in wounding my heart, and some of you will regret the hour when you did so. Another, perhaps, would adopt a different course, but I am not disposed to return evil for evil. I wish to believe, that in all your taunts upon this subject you have merely indulged your bantering humor--but not the less have you pained an honest heart. To-morrow will prove that you have grievously wronged me, and I am mistaken if you will not deeply regret it." So saying, he hurried away across the snow towards a distant fire, which lighted the ruder bivouac of the adjutant and quartermaster, and was there seen to seat himself with the air of one who has composed himself for the night. "What a silly fellow, to take the thing so seriously!" said Molineux, half vexed at himself, half moved by the reproachful tone of Raymond's address. "For God's sake, Grantham, call him back. Tell him we are ready to make any--every atonement for our offence," urged St. Clair. "And I will promise never to utter another pun at his expense as long as I live," added Middlemore. But before Henry Grantham, who had been a pained and silent witness of the scene, and who had already risen with a view to follow the wounded Raymond, could take a single step on his mission of peace, the low roll of the drum, summoning to fall in, warned them that the hour of action had already arrived, and each, quitting his fire, hastened to the more immediate and pressing duties of assembling his men, and carefully examining into the state of their appointments.