And there was Flora--dear, loving, gentle Flora. When was he to write to her, and through what channel? Ah, if he could calculate on promotion like that of Peter Schreutzer! He had only been absent from Flora a night and a day, just four-and-twenty hours, and already weeks seemed to have elapsed, (what would months--what would years seem?) while the arrival of Cosmo and long prior events seemed to have happened but yesterday. Under these circumstances, severance frequently causes the same inverted ideas of time, that a sudden death or other great calamity occasion. At the moment Quentin was dozing off to sleep, and to dream of past pleasures or of future triumphs (the ensign being long since in deep slumber on a sofa), he heard his two new friends parting in the corridor after having had one bottle more. "I say, Warriston, old boy, see me to my door, and just shove me in--there's a good fellow--here it is--thanks," stammered Monkton; "may you not have been rash in giving such a fi--fi--fiery old Turk as Middleton of ours, a letter for--for--damme, a perfect stranger--perfect stranger?" "Not at all," he heard Warriston reply; "the lad has a bearing I like, and on his own good and unerring conduct as a gentleman and volunteer must depend his chances of ever wearing these honourable badges on his shoulders. (He shook his large gold epaulettes as he spoke.) One o'clock--in three hours the drum will beat! I hope we shall have a fine day; last night the rain fell as if old Noah had hove up his anchor again. Good-night, Monkton--sleep if you can." CHAPTER XXIV. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "When I was an infant, gossips would say I'd when older be a soldier; Rattles and toys I'd throw them away, Unless a gun or sabre. When a younker up I grew, I saw one day a grand review, Colours flying set me dying, To embark in a life so new. Roll drums merrily--march away!" _Old Song._ Quentin had been asleep--to him it seemed but five minutes, though two hours had elapsed--when he started as if he had received an electric shock. The warning drum was being beaten loudly and sharply under his window, and soon after followed the long roll, whose summons admits of no delay, even to the most weary soldier. Half asleep and half refreshed, he sprang from bed; grey daylight was stealing faintly in, and all Ayr seemed yet a-bed, the shutters closed, the chimneys smokeless. The morning mist was curling in masses along the slopes of the uplands; the summits of the town steeples and the gothic tower of St. John were reddened by the first rays of the sun that was yet below the horizon, and the little drummer boy, as he paced slowly to and fro, in heavy marching order, with a black glazed knapsack strapped on his back, and a white canvas havresack slung crosswise over his pipeclayed sword-belt, seemed to be the only person abroad in the streets as yet.