Why should I weary you longer? Why speak of the long dreary night, and the longer day that followed this scene,--swayed by different impulses,-now hoping and fearing alternately,--not daring to seek counsel from my friends, because I well knew what worldly advice would be given,--I was wretched. In the very depth of my despondency, like a ray of sunlight darting through some crevice of a prisoner's cell, came your own words to me, “Be a soldier in more than garb or name, be one in the generous ardor of a bold career. Let it be your boast that you started fairly in the race, and so distanced your competitors.” I caught at the suggestion with avidity. I was no more depressed or down-hearted. I felt as if, throwing off my load of care, a better and a brighter day was about to break for me; the same evening I left London for Plymouth, and became a volunteer. Before concluding these lines, I would ask why you tell me no more of Miss Darcy than that “she is well, and, the reverse of her fortune considered, in spirits.” Am I to learn no more than that? Will you not say if my name is ever spoken by or before her? How am I remembered? Has time-have my changed fortunes softened her stern determination towards me? Would that I could know this,--would that I could divine what may lurk in her heart of compassionate pity for one who resigned all for her love, and lost! With all my gratitude for your kindness, when I well-nigh believed none remained in the world for me, I am, yours in sincere affection, Richard Forester. I forgot to ask if you can read one strange mystery of this business, at least so the words seem to imply. Lord Netherby said, when endeavoring to dissuade me from leaving my mother's house, “Remember, Captain Forester, that Lady Wallincourt's prejudices regarding your Irish friends have something stronger than mere caprice to strengthen them. You must not ask her to forget as well as forgive, all at once.” Can you interpret this riddle for me? for although at the time it made little impression, it recurs to my mind now twenty times a day. Here concluded Forester's letter. A single line in pencil was written at the foot, and signed “M. D. “: “I am a bad prophet, or the volunteer will turn out better than the aide-de-camp.” CHAPTER XV. A DINNER AT COM HEFFERNAN'S