When the two brothers were again alone in that room in which, not much more than two hours before, they had parted from each other with such painful emotions, Warenne, who could not reconcile to his conscience the steps which he had taken, though he had wilfully blinded himself to their inconsistency with his duty as a Christian, and was, moreover, much agitated with his narrow escape from more serious and irretrievable guilt, gave way to his feelings, and hastily saying, “Frank, you must pray for forgiveness for me!” threw himself on his knees by his bedside, and earnestly entreated pardon of his offended Creator. Frank silently placed himself beside him, and for a few minutes both were absorbed in their devotions; those of the latter, perhaps, assuming the tone of grateful thanksgiving, rather than of anxious supplication. Warenne then rose composed and calm, and looking affectionately on his brother, whose tearful countenance betrayed the sincerity of the feeling in which he had prayed, bade him hasten to prepare for their march. How lightly, how gladly did Frank now obey him! In an hour the bugles sounded, and the busy scene of departure commenced. The street was alive with men and horses, as the small parties came up from their different billets, and respectively fell into their places. Warenne had taken advantage of the interval to have his wound examined and dressed, and walked down the ranks to assume the command of his regiment with his cloak drawn over his bandaged arm, a little paler, perhaps, and graver than usual, but collected and self-possessed. A glance at his men showed him, that in the short time which had elapsed, the particulars of the duel had transpired. They were standing by their horses ready to mount; and as he passed along their front, one or two of the old veterans, who had fought through the peninsular campaigns with him, and considered him almost to belong to them, ventured to murmur reproachfully,— “Surely, sir, _you_ need not have gone to show your courage; if any thing had happened to you, what would have become of us? It’s a’most too bad of you.” And in a second more Henry Marston came up with a flushed face, and asked him how he could think of putting his life in danger to cover his foolish disputes with the Irish guests. “Why,” said he earnestly, “did you not let some one of us young ones fight O’Neil?” Warenne’s pale cheek received a slight tinge of colour, as he heard the affectionate remonstrances of his old soldiers; but he answered them only with a look of kind acknowledgment; to Henry, however, he replied smilingly, “Never mind now, Henry, I promise you that you shall shoot the next man who behaves ill at our mess; in the mean time I’ll try if I cannot occupy you more profitably.” Then hastening to mount his horse, he gave the signal for immediate departure. CHAPTER III. “I think thee all that e’er was tenanted Of noblest worth in loveliest female form.”