"Gertrude!" he cried softly, from his saddle. Gertrude immediately appeared. "You, Richard!" she exclaimed. Her voice was neither harsh nor sweet; but her words and her intonation recalled vividly to Richard's mind the scene in the conservatory. He fancied them keenly expressive of disappointment. He was invaded by a mischievous conviction that she had been expecting Captain Severn, or that at the least she had mistaken his voice for the Captain's. The truth is that she had half fancied it might be,--Richard's call having been little more than a loud whisper. The young man sat looking up at her, silent. "What do you want?" she asked. "Can I do anything for you?" Richard was not destined to do his duty that evening. A certain infinitesimal dryness of tone on Gertrude's part was the inevitable result of her finding that that whispered summons came only from Richard. She was preoccupied. Captain Severn had told her a fortnight before, that, in case of news of a defeat, he should not await the expiration of his leave of absence to return. Such news had now come, and her inference was that her friend would immediately take his departure. She could not but suppose that he would come and bid her farewell, and what might not be the incidents, the results, of such a visit? To tell the whole truth, it was under the pressure of these reflections that, twenty minutes before, Gertrude had dismissed our two gentlemen. That this long story should be told in the dozen words with which she greeted Richard, will seem unnatural to the disinterested reader. But in those words, poor Richard, with a lover's clairvoyance, read it at a single glance. The same resentful impulse, the same sickening of the heart, that he had felt in the conservatory, took possession of him once more. To be witness of Severn's passion for Gertrude,--that he could endure. To be witness of Gertrude's passion for Severn,--against that obligation his reason rebelled. "What is it you wish, Richard?" Gertrude repeated. "Have you forgotten anything?" "Nothing! nothing!" cried the young man. "It's no matter!" He gave a great pull at his bridle, and almost brought his horse back on his haunches, and then, wheeling him about on himself, he thrust in his spurs and galloped out of the gate. On the highway he came upon Major Luttrel, who stood looking down the lane. "I'm going to the Devil, sir!" cried Richard. "Give me your hand on it." Luttrel held out his hand. "My poor young man," said he, "you're out of your head. I'm sorry for you. You haven't been making a fool of yourself?" "Yes, a damnable fool of myself!" Luttrel breathed freely. "You'd better go home and go to bed," he said. "You'll make yourself ill by going on at this rate." "I--I'm afraid to go home," said Richard, in a broken voice. "For God's sake, come with me!"--and the wretched fellow burst into tears. "I'm too bad for any company but yours," he cried, in his sobs.