But the band heard nothing but their own instruments, and Richard stood looking on, feeling faint and more weary than ever, and paying no heed to the glass of champagne the servant had placed upon a side-table near him, for he had been busy fitting together his flute. "Go and tell them to leave off," said the old officer, and one of the servants hurried to the corner and checked the players, who could now be seen whispering together. "Now, Mr Wandering Minstrel," said the officer at the foot, "we are all attention." Dick's brow knit a little. "Mr Wandering Minstrel," in such a tone, jarred upon him, and a peculiar trembling came over him as he felt that he had forgotten everything. The table, with its plate and glass, looked misty, too, and there was a singing in his ears as his fingers played nervously with the keys of the instrument. "Now, sir, if you please," said the old officer, and Richard gave a start, raised the flute to his lips, and blew a few feeble notes as he vainly tried to collect himself--conscious, too, now that the bandsmen were craning forward to listen. Then he dimly saw that bent heads were being turned at the table, and that he was being eyed curiously, till, in a fit of desperation, he pressed the flute to his lips and blew again, if anything, more feebly; but the sound of the notes seemed to send a thrill through his nerves, and the next came deep, rich-toned, and pure, as he ran through a prelude, from which he imperceptibly glided into a sweet old Irish melody. He played it with such earnestness and feeling that his hearers were electrified, and the applause came again loudly, amidst which he dashed off into a series of variations, bright, sad, martial, and wailing, till, as he played, the room swam round him, the terrible scene in the river rose, followed by that with his cousin, and then he seemed to be hearing the thundering of the water once more in his ears-- He was on the floor, gazing up in the face of a stranger, who was upon his knee, while other faces kept on appearing, as it were, out of a mist. "Faintness, I should say," said the officer who knelt by him. "Give me that glass of wine. Here, my lad, try and drink some of this." As if in a dream, the lad involuntarily swallowed the wine, and then, in a sharp, snatchy way, cried-- "What is it? What is the matter? What are you doing?" "Have you been ill?" said the gentleman by him. "Ill? No!" said Richard, huskily. "I don't understand." "What have you eaten to-day?" "Nothing--yes: a bit of bread." "And yesterday?" Richard was silent for a few moments, trying to collect himself. Then he recalled the past. "I don't know," he said. "Well, Doctor?" "Faint from excitement and want of food, sir," said the doctor. "Shall I prescribe here?" "Do I ever fight against your wishes?" said the old officer.