THE CAMERONIANS. A Novel. BY JAMES GRANT, AUTHOR OF 'THE ROMANCE OF WAR,' 'OLD AND NEW EDINBURGH, ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen. 1881. [_All Rights Reserved._] CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAPTER I. 'A WEAK INVENTION OF THE ENEMY' II. CECIL RECEIVES HIS CONGÉ III. IN THE PRINCE'S STREET GARDENS IV. A FRUITLESS TASK V. THE REGIMENTAL BALL VI. HEW'S TRIUMPH VII. 'I HAVE COME FOR YOUR SWORD' VIII. THE COURT-MARTIAL IX. A PAGE OF LIFE TURNED OVER X. GONE XI. 'THE INITIALS' XII. TURNING THE TABLES XIII. BY THE MORAVA XIV. A MYSTERY XV. ON DUTY XVI. THE CASTLE OF PALENKA XVII. MARGARITA XVIII. CAPTAIN GUEBHARD XIX. THE BLACK MOUNTAINEERS XX. CECIL COMES TO GRIEF THE CAMERONIANS. CHAPTER I. 'A WEAK INVENTION OF THE ENEMY.' Hew resolved, as before, to lose no time in putting Sir Piers on his guard; he would give him an 'eye-opener,' he thought; and, in his ignorance of military discipline and etiquette, almost conceived that the baronet, as full colonel of the regiment, might have power to issue, perhaps, some very stringent and crushing order concerning the culprit. Hew, among other 'caddish' tastes and propensities, was fond of 'sherry-glass flirtations' at bars and buffets, where sham smiles are bartered for button-hole flowers, amid bantered compliments and honeyed small-talk, not always remarkable for its purity; and while engaged in one of these little affairs, he made the casual acquaintance of Herr Von Humstrumm, the regimental bandmaster, a somewhat obese-looking German, with an enormous moustache and his scrubby dark hair shorn remarkably short; and from the latter he drew--or alleged to Sir Piers that he drew--some account of the family and antecedents of Cecil Falconer; and with these he came home highly elated; and whatever the conversation really was, the communications did not suffer diminution in his relation of them; and he broke the matter to Sir Piers in a cold, hard, and exultant way, that could scarcely fail to strike the latter as being, at least, ungenerous. 'I have discovered who and what our hero is!' said he. 'Our hero--who?' 'Our late visitor and guest, Mr. Falconer.' 'Captain Falconer. Well?' 'I met the bandmaster the other day, at a luncheon-bar, and he told me all about him,' continued Hew, laughing immoderately. 'I know that in Scottish regiments, especially, every man's family is usually known, his antecedents, and so forth.' 'And _who_ do you think this Falconer proves to be?' asked Hew, with malignancy flashing brightly in his parti-coloured eyes. 'A pauper with a long pedigree, you will say. No, by Jove! he has not even _that_!' 'What _do_ you mean, Hew?' asked Sir Piers, looking up from his chair, with knitted brow. 'I mean,' replied Hew, 'he may, like the street balladers, sing