As everyone does not know, perhaps, so as to keep up a sustained military march, the brass band is divided into two parts, one of which will play through certain portions of the melody, which is then taken up by the second part, while the first regains breath, ready to take its turn again and to join in unison with the other in some _forte_ passage. Close up to the High Barrack gates, then, the bandsmen stood upon the pavement, while the companies of the 310th marched up the road. Dick Smithson was resting with the men of his side, while the others were concluding their part. The next minute Dick was in the act of raising his piccolo to his lips to shower out a burst of its bright bird-like music, while _tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp_, the men marched by, when his nerves suddenly seemed to be paralysed, his muscles refused to act, and he stood holding the tiny bright-keyed flute level with his chin, staring hard at a young officer, weary, covered with chalky dust, and with a set supercilious smile upon his lips, as he turned his eyes left to stare contemptuously at the young bandsman he passed. It was almost momentary, just taking as long as a man walking at a steady pace would occupy. Then he was by, leaving Dick staring after him as if in a cataleptic fit, his face full of terror and despair. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. HAUNTED. For nearly a minute Dick did not stir, but stood staring, with eyes wide open, lips apart, and the piccolo held still on a level with his chin. Then, as the figure of the officer was hidden by the marching men, the young musician uttered a low, hoarse sound--the pent-up breath escaping from his lungs. The while the buildings opposite, the crowd of people in doorways and at windows, even the marching men steadily tramping by, seemed to undulate, rise, and then slowly glide round and round, till he gave a violent start; for a hand had grasped his arm, and he turned to gaze at the clarionet-player who was supporting him. "What is it? A bit faint?" "I--I don't know," faltered Dick. "I do. That's it. You've been blowing a bit too hard. Don't play any more. We've just done." A minute or two gave the lad time to try and recover himself. "Yes, that's it," said the clarionet-player; "you got excited, and played too hard. I remember being once like that; I shivered just as you are shivering now. Doctor said it was only nerves." "Only nerves!" said Dick, in a low tone, involuntarily repeating the man's words. "Yes, that's it. Keep cool, and you'll soon come right. Feel faint now?" "No, the giddiness has gone off." "That's right."