"Take mine--I have a spare one," said the chief of the staff, who was then a major-general and C.B. He rang the hand-bell for the orderly sergeant, to whom he gave a message. Then I had a glass or two of sherry from a simple black bottle; Lord Raglan gave me his missive sealed, and shook my hand with that energy peculiar to the one-armed, and a few minutes more saw me mounted on a fine black horse, belonging to the chief of the staff, and departing on my lonely mission. The animal I rode--round in the barrel, high in the forehead, and deep in the chest, sound on its feet and light in hand--was a thorough English roadster--a nag more difficult to find in perfection than even the hunter or racer; but his owner was fated to see him no more. I rode over to the lines of the regiment, to let some of our fellows--who all envied me, yet wished me well--know of the duty assigned me. What was it to me whether or not _she_ saw my name in despatches, in orders, or in the death list? Whether I distinguished myself or died mattered little to me, and less now to her. It was a bitter conviction; so excitement and forgetfulness alike of the past and of the present were all I sought--all I cared for. Caradoc, however, wisely and kindly suggested some alteration or modification in my uniform, as the country through which I had to pass was certainly liable to sudden raids by scouting Cossacks. So, for my red coat and bearskin, I hastily substituted the blue undress surtout, forage cap, and gray greatcoat. I had my sword, revolver, and ammunition pouch at my waist-belt. Perceiving that I was gloomy and sullen, and somewhat low-spirited in eye and bearing, Caradoc and Charley Gwynne, who could not comprehend what had "been up" with me for some time past, and who openly assured me that they envied me this chance of "honourable mention," accompanied me a little way beyond the line of sentries on our right flank. "Au revoir, old fellow! Keep up your heart and remember all I have said to you," were Phil's parting words, "and together we shall sing and be merry. I hope to keep the 1st of March in Sebastopol, and there to chorus our old mess room song;" and as he waved his hand to me, the light-hearted fellow sang a verse of a ditty we were wont to indulge in on St. David's-day, while Toby Purcell's spurs were laid on the table, and the band, preceded by the goat led by the drum-major with a salver of leeks, marched in procession round it: "Then pledge me a toast to the glory of Wales-- To her sons and her daughters, her hills and her vales; Once more--here's a toast to the mighty of old-- To the fair and the gentle, the wise and the bold; Here's a health to whoever, by land or by sea, Has been true to the Wales of the brave and the free!"