As it was growing late I hurriedly bade adieu to my friends, and hastened to Colonel Carden’s quarters, where I found him waiting for me, in company with my old friend, Fitzgerald, our regimental surgeon. Our first greetings over, the colonel drew me aside into a window, and said that, from certain expressions Lord Callonby had made use of—certain hints he had dropped—he was perfectly aware of the delicate position in which I stood with respect to his lordship’s family. “In fact, my dear Lorrequer,” he continued, “without wishing in the least to obtrude myself upon your confidence, I must yet be permitted to say, you are the luckiest fellow in Europe, and I most sincerely congratulate you on the prospect before you.” “But, my dear Colonel, I assure you—” “Well, well, there—not a word more; don’t blush now. I know there is always a kind of secrecy thought necessary on these occasions, for the sake of other parties; so let us pass to your plans. From what I have collected, you have not yet proposed formally. But, of course you desire a leave. You’ll not quit the army, I trust; no necessity for that; such influence as yours can always appoint you to an unattached commission.” “Once more let me protest, sir, that though for certain reasons most desirous to obtain a leave of absence, I have not the most remote—” “That’s right, quite right; I am sincerely gratified to hear you say so, and so will be Lord Callonby; for he likes the service.” And thus was my last effort at a disclaimer cut short by the loquacious little colonel, who regarded my unfinished sentence as a concurrence with his own opinion. “Allah il Allah,” thought I, “it is my Lord Callonby’s own plot; and his friend Colonel Cardon aids and abets him.” “Now, Lorrequer,” resumed the colonel, “let us proceed. You have, of course, heard that we are ordered abroad; mere newspaper report for the present; nevertheless, it is extremely difficult—almost impossible, without a sick certificate, to obtain a leave sufficiently long for your purpose.” And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon les regles.. “A sick certificate,” said I in some surprise. “The only thing for you,” said Fitzgerald, taking a long pinch of snuff; “and I grieve to say you have a most villainous look of good health about you.” “I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better.” “So much the worse—so much the worse,” said Fitzgerald despondingly. “Is there no family complaint; no respectable heir-loom of infirmity, you can lay claim to from your kindred?” “None, that I know of, unless a very active performance on the several occasions of breakfast, dinner, and supper, with a tendency towards port, and an inclination to sleep ten in every twenty-four hours, be a sign of sickness; these symptoms I have known many of the family suffer for years, without the slightest alleviation, though, strange as it may appear, they occasionally had medical advice.”