‘This man’s a friend of yours, is he, Volnay?’ said De Blacquaire, ignoring his antagonist. ‘Yes,’ said Volnay. ‘A very old friend of mine.’ ‘Well, you can keep him with you. I’ve just got my appointment on the Staff. I’m off for Varna to-morrow, and I don’t suppose that I shall meet the gentleman again. I want a private word with you. If Mr. Jervase will be so kind as to relieve us of his presence.’ ‘I’ll be back in a quarter of an hour,’ said Polson. ‘All right, old chap,’ Volnay answered, and made haste to add, before his old chum had left the room, ‘I’m devilish glad you’re going, De Blacquaire, and the whole regiment will share my sentiments. The mess will be a devilish sight happier without you.’ At this, the Major’s pale face flushed for an instant, and Polson grinned sardonically as he strode away. He found his way into the canteen, made a rough breakfast there, and then returning found Volnay ready to put him through all the necessary formalities. An old Sergeant put the regulation questions as to name, age, and employment. Was he married? No. Was he an apprentice? No. Had he ever at any time offered himself for Her Majesty’s service, and been refused? No. Had he ever been tried for any criminal offence? No. Then here was the Queen’s shilling, and he was enlisted to serve Her Majesty for the term of twenty years, and was now to report himself to the doctor, and after passing his examination, would be required to present himself at noon to be sworn in before the Colonel, and failing so to present himself, he would be liable to arrest and imprisonment as a rogue and vagabond. ‘So now the trick is done,’ said Volnay, ‘and you can’t undo it. At another time you could have bought out for thirty pounds; but we shall be off to Varna in a week or two, and the Queen won’t spare a man she has once laid hands on for love or money until we have got through the little brush that’s coming with old Nick and his merry men.’ CHAPTER VI There was no sleep in the grey-stone house on the Beacon Hill, on that eventful night on which Polson Jervase left his home, for anybody except the domestics, who were ignorant of the blow which had fallen on the household. Jervase made no pretence of courting sleep at all: but having banked up the fire he went down into the cellar, brought up a couple of bottles of brandy, and prepared himself to make a night of it. It had not been his habit for years to drink to excess, but in his earlier days at any time of trouble he had gone to that false solace, and now the instinct came back to him. James kept him company awhile in his potations, but by and by crept off to bed, and Jervase sat alone drinking fiercely, at first without apparent effect. General Boswell rose before dawn without having closed an eye, and waited for the daylight. At its first dawning he walked softly to the room in which Irene lay and tapped quietly at the door. ‘Who’s there?’ his daughter’s voice asked him, and he answered: