"Not so," returned Villiers, "we can't afford to spare you yet--besides, the death of a blue jacket can in no way benefit us. What's the use of 'a bloody war and a sickly season,' that standard toast at every West India mess, if the juniors are to go off, and not the seniors?--Cranstoun's the man we've booked." "Captain Cranstoun, I have the honor of wishing you a safe passage, and speedy promotion in Heaven," said Middlemore, draining off his glass. "Devilish good port this of yours! By the bye, as you have a better _port_ in view, you cannot do better than assign over what is left of this to me." "Thank you, Mr. Middlemore," returned Cranstoun, drily yet good-humoredly, "yet as you are attached to my division, you will perhaps run just the same risk; and as, perhaps, you will not require more wine than we have taken to-day, I will pledge you in a last cup a safe passage to Heaven, where I trust you will find credit for better qualities than you possess as a punster." "What," asked Gerald, with an unfeigned surprise, when the laugh against Middlemore had subsided, "and is it really in his own wine that you have all been thus courteously pledging Captain Cranstoun's death?" "Even so," said Middlemore, rallying and returning to the attack, "he invited us all to lunch in his tent, and how could we better repay him for opening his hampers, than by returning his _spirit scot-free_ and _unhampered_ to Heaven?" "Oh, oh, oh!" ejaculated St. Clair, stopping his ears and throwing up his eyes; "surely, Mr. Middlemore, if you are not shot this day, it must be that you were born to be hanged--no man can perpetrate so horrible a pun, and expect to live." "I'm hanged if I am, then," returned the other; "but, talking of being shot--is there another shot in the locker, Cranstoun---another bottle of port?" "The shot that is reserved for you, will bring you acquainted with another locker than Cranstoun's, I suspect," said Villiers, "one Mr. David Jones's locker--hit there, eh?" The low roll of a muffled drum suddenly recalled the party from their trifling to considerations of a graver interest. It was the signal for forming the columns of attack. In a moment the tone, the air of ribaldry, was exchanged for a seriousness that befitted the occasion--and it seemed as if a momentary reproach passed over the minds of those who had most amused themselves at the expense of Cranstoun, for each, as he quitted the tent, gave his extended hand to his host, who pressed it in a manner to show all was forgiven.