"Never mind," said the General, goodhumouredly; "never mind, Humphrey, we are in excellent quarters." "Will your honour allow me to say a word?” replied Humphrey. "Pooh! pooh! go your way," answered the General, in the same kindly tone, which showed that he was speaking to an attached and favourite dependant, "go your way, and obey orders; I tell you I have pitched my tent for the night." "I must speak one word, your honour; only one word Humphrey! Humphrey !" exclaimed the General, knitting his brow, "are you not ashamed of yourself? An old soldier, an old campaigner too, and not to know ~" "But this gentleman, your honour!" interrupted Humphrey, pointing to Cameron with a look of equal delight and amazement —“ this gentleman is the very gentleman — why, I declare there's other gentleman too!" he continued with increased amazement, catching a view of Aston. 1 The General was now as much amazed as Humphrey, till the latter, at the request of Cameron, was allowed to explain the cause of his own amazement; which he did, by giving his master to understand that Aston and Cameron were the two identical strangers whose kindness to his son he had faithfully reported upon his return. The discovery had been made at the precise moment when the General declared his intention of accepting the hospitable invitation to remain all night; and Humphrey's exclamation, seeming to be called forth by that circumstance (for he had the privilege of remonstrating with his master whenever he thought he stood in need of his advice), it led to the above short dialogue between them. When Humphrey left the room, to impart below-stairs sundry matters touching this extraordinary business, which he deemed it unnecessary to mention in the presence of those who could tell them much better than himself, Cameron related to the General exactly how the meeting with his son had taken place, speaking in no measured terms of the great mental power which his conversation, incoherent as it was, betrayed. The General listened to this account with evident agitation; whether arising from the recollection of his dreadful anxiety during the time he was lost, or from regret that a calamity he would rather have concealed, had been thus made known. There was, however, but one feeling of sincere satisfaction, when he mentioned that the symptoms of amendment already visible under the treatment he was receiving, were such as to justify the most sanguine hopes of an entire and speedy recovery from his dreadful malady. It was now no longer necessary to maintain the same reserve upon the subject; and the General himself felt that he could hardly continue to evade it, without an appearance of affectation, which was utterly repugnant to his real character. "It will distress you," said he, “to hear it; but, after what has been mentioned, your curiosity must naturally be excited, and I will endeavour therefore to give you some account of the melancholy affair." CHAPTER XXIII. Oh! you powerful gods! That should have angels guardant on your throne HEYWOOD'S Rape of Lucrece. "Ir was about a month before we left India that my unhappy son was married. I will not pretend to describe his love for the young lady, but it was such as every man ought to have for the woman he marries. Poor fellow ! what a happy creature he was on his weddingday! I think I see him now; and his wife also; for if ever two hearts were moulded into one by perfect union, by the entire surrender, on both sides, of every wish that could dream of separate felicity, they were the hearts of Charles Neville and Bertha de Vere 66 They had been brought up together from childhood. Bertha was the daughter of a dear and gallant friend, who died in my arms upon the field of battle; and whose last moments I cheered by the promise, that I would protect his orphan child. He was only a lieutenant; but, had he lived, and received fair play at head-quarters, he would have been a general long before I could have scrambled up to a majority. The very exploit that cost him his life would have cost his country a pension for his daughter, and a monument in Westminster Abbey for himself, if those things were always the consequence of deserving them. But De Vere could only deserve them; so his glory died with him.” "I am afraid there is a great deal more of such glory," observed Aston, "than of that which lives in epitaphs, or keeps a man company in his grave." 66 Truly yes,” replied the General. am wandering from my subject. "But I Yet, I can never speak of Bertha de Vere without paying a tribute to the memory of her noble father, |