Meantime, while this conference was going on, Middleton was in a far less complacent frame of mind. He had just left the camp that afternoon and was on his way to his quarters, when, at a turn in the street, he came on a group of young gentlemen surrounding a young lady who was dressed in a riding-habit, and was giving an animated account of some occurrence. As soon as he turned the corner, he was too close on them to turn back; so he had to pass. He instantly recognized Miss Cary, though her back was toward him: the trim figure, abundant hair, and musical voice were not to be forgotten. “I don’t think you need any guard, so long as you have Mammy Krenda,” laughed one of the young men. “No, with her for the rank and file, I am just waiting for Captain M— I mean to meet him some day, and—” “Hush-here he is now.” “I don’t care.” She tossed her head. Middleton could not help hearing what she said, or seeing the gesture that stopped her. He passed on, touching his cap to one or two of the young men, who returned the salute. But Miss Cary took no more notice of him than if he had been a dog. Thurston had reached their room a little before Middleton arrived. He was in unusually good spirits, having just relieved his mind by cursing Leech heartily to Miss Dockett, and thus re-establishing himself with that young lady, who had been turning her back on him ever since she had heard of the incident at Birdwood. In reward for this act of reparation, the young lady had condescended to tell Lieutenant Thurston of the entertainment which the young people proposed to get up; and the little officer had made up his mind that, if possible, he and Middleton should be invited. He had just lit his pipe and was, as he said, laying out his campaign, when Middleton entered and, tossing his sword in a corner, without a word, lit a cigar, flung himself in an arm-chair and gazed moodily out of the window. The Lieutenant watched his friend in silence, with a more serious look on his face than usually found lodgement on that cheerful countenance. The cloud remained on Middleton’s brow, but the Lieutenant’s face cleared up, and presently, between the puffs of his pipe, he said: “Larry, you need the consolations of religion.” Middleton, without taking his eyes from the distance, turned his cigar in his mouth and remained silent. “And I’m going to make you sit under the ministrations of the pious Mr. Langstuff—” “Foolstuff!” growled Middleton, turning his eye on him. “—For your soul’s good and your eyes’ comfort,” continued the Lieutenant placidly. “For they do say, Larry, that he preaches to the prettiest lot of unrepentant, stony-hearted, fair rebels that ever combined the love of Heaven with the hatred of their fellow-mortals. You are running to waste, Larry, and I must utilize you.” “Jackass!” muttered Middleton, but he looked at Thurston, who smoked solemnly. “For they say, Larry, there’s going to be a dancing-party, and we must be there, you know.”