"Her Majesty the Queen don't think so--no, sir--d--n me, whatever you, and such as you, may think," responded Derrick, becoming suddenly sulky and gloomy. "Who do you mean, Braddon?" asked the other, drinking, and eying him keenly over his pewter-pot. "Did you see to-day's Gazette?" "The Bankruptcy list?" "Bankrupts be--" roared Braddon, contemptuously, striking his clenched hand on the deal table; "no--the _War Office Gazette_." Mr. W. S. Sharkley faintly and timidly indicated that as it was a part of the newspapers which possessed but small interest for him, he certainly had not seen it. "Well, that is strange now," said Derrick; "it is almost the only bit of a paper I ever read." "It ain't very lively, I should think." "Ain't it--well, had you looked there to-day, you would have seen that young master Denzil--that is my Lord Lamorna as should be--has been gazetted to a Lieutenancy in the old Cornish--yes, in the-old-Cornish-Light-Infantry!" added Derrick, running five words into one. "Indeed! but he may die in the hands of the enemy for all that--though I hope not." "Give me your hand, Mr. Sharkley, for that wish," said Derrick, with tipsy solemnity; "moreover, he is to have the third class of the Dooranee Empire, whatever the dickens that may be. I've drawed my pension to-day, Mr. Sharkley, and I mean to spend every penny of it in wetting the young master's new commission, and the Dooranee Empire to boot. Try the beer again--it's home-brewed, and a first-rate quencher--here's-his-jolly good-health!" "So say I--his jolly good health." "With three times three!" "Yes," added Sharkley, as he wrung the pensioner's proffered hand, "and three to that." Derrick, who, though winding up the day on beer, had commenced it with brandy, was fast becoming more noisy and confused, to his wary visitor's intense satisfaction. "Yes--yes--master Denzil will escape all and come home safe, please God," said Derrick, becoming sad and sentimental for a minute; "yet in my time I heard many a fellow--yes, many a fellow--before we went into action, or were just looking to our locks, and getting the cartridges loose, say to another, 'write for me,' to my father, or mother, or it might be 'poor Bess, or Nora,' meaning his wife, 'in case I get knocked on the head;' and I have seen them shot in their belts within ten minutes after. I often think--yes, by jingo I do--that a man sometimes knows when death is a-nigh him, for I have heard some say they were sure they'd be shot, and shot they were sure enough; while others--I for one--were always sure they'd escape. It's what we soldiers call a presentiment; but of course, you, as a lawyer, can know nothing about it. With sixty rounds of ammunition at his back, a poor fellow will have a better chance of seeing Heaven than if he died with a blue bagfull of writs and rubbish." Then Derrick indulged in a tipsy fit of laughter, mingled with tears, as he said,