I felt, too, that I never enjoyed Louisa’s society less than amid her own family circle. True, my name was not recorded in Douglas, Debrett, or any other _libre d’or_ of Scottish or English nobility, but I was not the less a gentleman, and my whole soul fired up—almost with red republicanism—at the cool bearing usually assumed towards me by my Lady Chillingham. A few hours since, the idea of being made a mark for a Muscovite bullet, or a Cossack lance, had not been a matter of much moment; now that the cloud had dispersed, that I knew Louisa loved me still—now that I felt once more all the witchery with which the love of such a girl can enhance existence—now that the sweet dream was no longer, as it had been at Calderwood, a mere dream, but a delicious reality—I came to the conclusion that war was an impertinent bore, glory a delusion and a snare, Mars and Bellona a couple of humbugs—the former a rowdy, and the latter no better than she should be. I can really assure the reader that I would have borne the intelligence of a sudden peace with great Christian fortitude and perfect equanimity of mind; and had it pleased the Emperor Nicholas and the Western Powers to shake hands, and leave unmolested the Crimea and the "sick man" at Stamboul, certainly none would have blessed their quiet intentions more than I, Newton Norcliff. But fate had ordained it otherwise; and, like the Roman senator, their "voice was still for war!" The eventful evening of the "20th instant" saw me ushered into the drawing-room at Chillingham Park, and on this occasion I went in full uniform, knowing well that it enhances the interest with which one is viewed, in times when the atmosphere is so redolent of gunpowder, as it certainly was at this period of my story; and when one is made up— By youth, by love, and by an army tailor, the impression is generally favourable. Circumstances fluttered me, and it was not without an unwonted emotion of confusion I made my way among ottomans, buhl tables, and glass-shades, and seeming to see in the reflecting mirrors at least one hundred figures in lancer uniform traversing the vast perspectives. Even the usual cold and haughty countess received me with cordiality (she was soon to be rid of me for ever, perhaps). Lord Chillingham, a dignified old peer, whom it is difficult to describe, as there was an absence of characteristics, and nothing remarkable about him, save the extreme length of his white waistcoat, met me with the polite and pleasing warmth he accorded to all whom he cared nothing about. Cora hurried forward to meet me, looking, I thought, very pale, and not very becomingly dressed—in deep dark blue silk, with black lace flounces—and beyond her I saw Lady Louisa. When I approached the latter, my temples throbbed painfully, and I played nervously with the tassels of my gold sash, like a raw boy who had just reported his having joined.