"Warrants to raise men by beat of drum," explained the captain, politely. "They are originally signed by the royal hand, but copies are taken from them, and signed by the secretary of state for war, and without them no officer can beat a recruiting drum anywhere. You have raised nearly a hundred men here, Dick, and must have made something of it." "Much need," grumbled the lieutenant, making ineffectual attempts to buckle on his sword, as if he was going to bed with it. "I am Dick Monkton, of Monkton in Lothian, of course; but in name only, for those paternal acres are so covered by original sin in the shape of mortgages that never a penny comes to me; so I am compelled to live and be jolly on six shillings and sixpence per diem, less the infernal income-tax; and being a fellow of a generous disposition, I am always losing my heart and my money among the fair sex." "Good night, Mr. Kennedy," said Captain Warriston; "if you are still in the same mood of mind to-morrow, you may turn my letter to some account. The drum will beat at daybreak." "Put your pride in a knapsack or wherever else it can be conveniently carried, my boy," said Monkton, making a fearful lurch over a chair; "volunteer and come with us to fight Nap and his Frenchmen." Then he began to sing, tipsily: "'Since some have from ditches And coarse leather breeches Been raised to be rulers and wallowed in riches, Prythee, Dame Fortune, come down from thy wheel; For if the gipsies don't lie I shall be a general at least ere I die!' "Ah, damme, but we are not in the Prussian service, like that old cock, Peter Shooter, or what's his name?" Monkton was becoming seriously tipsy, so Quentin, on receiving a warning glance from Captain Warriston, took his candle and retired to No. 20 for the night, feeling sensibly that he had imbibed more wine than he was wont to do after supper at Rohallion. He could not sleep, however, till the night was far advanced, and the knowledge that drum was to beat by daybreak kept him nervously wakeful, lest he might not hear it, and perhaps be left behind. The drum was to beat, and _for him_! There was a strange charm in the idea: it seemed to realize somewhat of his old day-dreams and romantic aspirations. Already he felt himself a soldier, and bound for service and adventure! How much would he have to relate when he wrote to the good old quartermaster, announcing that he was off to join the army, and _his own_ old corps, the 25th, whose memory he so treasured, though his name, alas! was long since forgotten in its ranks.