But Dick did not repent. He was Dick now--Dick Smithson--even to himself; and after the first few days, far from repenting the wild step he had taken, he rejoiced in the calm rest which seemed to have come over him. There was no one to accuse him of dishonourableness, to remind him of the death of his cousin, no relations to meet who would reproach him for all that he had done. There was ease at night, so little time for thought. The military routine kept him busy; and as he had embraced this life, he worked like a slave to master his duties, and the time rapidly glided by. There was always a smile for him whenever he met the big sergeant, while the others he had encountered that first day were ready with a friendly nod. There was a band practice one afternoon, and Dick took his place with the rest, listening to the men, who, whatever their instrument, began to run through difficult bits regardless of their neighbours; but there was only one person present whom this chaos of wild sounds affected--to wit, the recruit, who listened with an intense longing to ram his fingers in his ears, as one man began to cut and slash out notes from the trombone in the key of G; while another practised difficult runs in E flat upon the clarionet, another ran through a strain in F upon the cornet, and the hautbois-performer, the bassoon, the contra-bass, and the keyed-trumpet toiled away in major, minor, flat, sharp, or in whatever key his music might be set. The bewildering, maddening row--it deserved no other term--went on till the bandmaster, looking mildly important in his spectacles, entered the room, walked up to his stand--across which a baton had been laid--gave a sharp tap, and there was instant silence, broken, however, by sundry dull pops, as men drew the crooks out of their brass instruments, and drained away the condensed breath. "We'll try that march from _Forst_ again," said the bandmaster; and the men began to turn over the leaves of their music, while others adjusted the cards ready upon their brass instruments. Dick stood by the regular flute-player, who, rather grudgingly, made room at his tall stand; and then, as the bandmaster called attention with a fresh tap of the baton and opened the score, the flautist said: "Beg pardon, Mr Wilkins, sir; here's the recruit. Is he to stand with me?" Dick waited, curious to hear what followed, and incensed at what did; for, when the bandmaster entered, he had glanced sharply at the now bandsman, and then passed on. "Eh! what recruit?" said the little leader, looking up and giving a start as he made believe to see Dick for the first time. "Oh, that young man? Well, perhaps he had better stand by you, and then he may pick up what he can. This is a difficult piece." "I know Gounod's work pretty well, sir," said Dick, quietly. "Oh, do you!" said the bandmaster, with a little jerky laugh, like that of a spiteful woman. "Now, then; what's your name, sir?"