My father, as was his wont when any thing particularly excited him, sprang from his chair, and strode thrice across the chamber.--“Tell me not,” he exclaimed, “that there is not an especial providence over every thing--ay, from the sparrow to the soldier’s child. That orphan has been sent to _me_,--mine it is,--mine it shall be. Pass the wine, Doctor. Here comes _madame_.” My mother timidly approached the side of her husband’s chair, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. “Denis,” she said, “will you be very angry with me?” “Angry, love!” replied my father, reproachfully. “You never were angry with me yet. But--but--I have done something, upon which I should have previously obtained your sanction, love.” “What was it, Emily?” “I promised,” said my mother, “the dying woman, that her helpless child should find in you and me protectors. Hector’s nurse has taken the orphan,--and shall he not be our own boy’s foster-brother?” “You did, my dear, precisely what I had determined to have done myself.” “Before the sufferer’s voice failed totally,” continued the lady, “she said that the child was still unchristened, and prayed that rite might be performed when convenient.” “There will be no difficulty in complying with her request,” replied my father; “there are now two learned Thebans in Knockloftie. To which of the professors does the poor baby belong?” “His parents were Roman Catholics,” said my mother. “Then, Father Dominic, a cast of your office will be necessary. Ring for Sergeant Brady--and then parade the child.” In a few moments the non-commissioned officer and the soldier’s orphan were introduced. “What name shall I give him?” said the priest. “His father’s,” rejoined the Colonel. “That was Marc,” observed the sergeant. “What’s in a name?” said Dr. Hamilton. “More than one would suppose, Doctor,” replied my father. “Our red-headed adjutant married a Bath heiress almost at sight, for after but a two hours’ siege she surrendered at discretion, declaring that it was utterly impossible to hold out against a lover whose appellatives were Julius Cæsar.” “Then add Antony to his patronymic, and your _protégé_ will prove irresistible.” “Marc Antony be it then,” replied the priest; and in five minutes the ceremony was complete. The sergeant retired to finish his supper below stairs, and the orphan was returned to the nursery, named after that amorous Roman, who “for a queen of fifty” gave up a world. [Illustration: 0027] The clock struck eleven.--My mother retired for the night, and the priest had been called out to prescribe for a sick soldier,--for his reverence united leechcraft to divinity, and thus was doubly useful. My father and Dr. Hamilton were consequently left alone, and both for some minutes had been communing with their own thoughts--my father broke the silence.