I was full of thought while riding slowly home to the barracks on the Thanet Road; I longed for Cora’s coming to unravel the mystery of Louisa’s conduct, and yet dreaded to face my cousin or broach the matter to her. I was inspired with sympathy for the poor lost creature I had just quitted, and full of indulgence for her mode of life, and excuses for her fate and fall. Her singular beauty greatly aided emotions such as these, for the morbid state of her health lent a wondrous lustre to her dark blue eyes, and marvellous transparency to her lovely complexion; and I felt extreme satisfaction that it was in my power to gratify a wish that was, perhaps, her last one—to pay a pilgrimage to the resting-place of her parents. The sweet verse of honest Goldsmith occurred to me— The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom is—to die! At the same time I thought it very doubtful whether any such catastrophe would wring the padded bosom of Berkeley. Had Agnes Auriol been a wrinkled crone, it may be a matter for consideration whether I—a young officer of lancers—would have been so exceedingly philanthropic in her cause. I hope I should. On arriving at the barracks, my first task was to despatch Pitblado by the night train to head-quarters, with a note to M’Goldrick, the paymaster, for at least fifty pounds, saying I wanted the money, and must have it by noon to-morrow. *CHAPTER XIX.* But the spite on’t is, no praise Is due at all to me; Love with me hath made mad no staies Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this Twelve dozen in her place. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. Promptly, by an early train, Willie Pitblado arrived with the cash from M’Goldrick, and with that which alike puzzled and provoked me—a brief note from my friend, Jack Studhome, the adjutant, advising me that, from rumours he, Scriven, and Wilford had heard—rumours circulated insidiously, he knew not how or by whom, in the billiard-rooms we frequented, and indeed about Maidstone barracks generally—my visits to a certain romantic cottage near the Reculvers were well known. I might mean no wrong, certainly; but was it judicious or wise to get myself into a scrape with a brother officer? There was no mistaking the object of this friendly epistle of Jack’s, and it filled me with fresh anger against Berkeley. Who but he could insidiously spread those reports concerning what he alone knew or could affect an interest in! I knew his subtle and crooked mode of working; and his ultimate object was undoubtedly that this rumour against me should ere long reach Chillingham Park. Yet, removed as I was from head-quarters, I could do nothing in the matter, and for the present had only "to grin and bear it."