hen hot marches and cold meals, sour wine
and bad quarters, or no quarters at all, will be the order of the
day. I trust we shall move through a more plentiful country than we
did last year."

"It has not quite come to that yet," said Lord Strathern. "Here is an
order for me to meet Sir Rowland at Alcantara, at ten, the day after
to-morrow. I am to take you and Conway with me, for he has special
instructions for you both. And here is an order for that modest fellow
L'Isle to attend and report the state of the Andalusian reserve. I
expect Conway to dinner. You had better stay and meet him."

In due time Major Conway appeared, and dinner was announced. Mrs.
Shortridge had gone home, so that only two guests sat down with Lady
Mabel and her father. No man made himself more agreeable in his own
house and at his own table than Lord Strathern usually did, for
hospitality was with him an article of religion. But to-day my lord
was not in a religious frame of mind. He was moody and silent, or
growled at his servants, and gave short answers to his guests; so that
Major Conway, after sundry attempts to engage him in conversation,
gave it up, and joined Bradshawe in his efforts to entertain Lady
Mabel. At length the cloth was removed, the servants withdrew, and the
gentlemen sat over their wine; yet Lady Mabel, not trained to a nice
observance of little conventionalities, lingered there, watching her
father's moody brow.

"So L'Isle has got back," said Major Conway.

"The impudent coxcomb!" exclaimed Lord Strathern.

Conway started. But Lady Mabel started as if a snake had bitten
her. She said nothing, however; perhaps she could not had she
tried. But Conway exclaimed: "My lord, perhaps I did not hear you
rightly."

"You did Major Conway. I say that L'Isle is an impudent coxcomb. The
most presumptuous fellow I know. I will find or make an occasion to
give him a lesson he much needs."

"Why, my lord, what has L'Isle done?" asked the Major.

"Done!" said Lord Strathern angrily. "He has said a great deal more
than I will tolerate." And, having broached the subject, he told the
story of L'Isle's interview with himself, and his remarks to
Bradshawe, pronouncing his whole conduct presumptuous and impertinent.
Losing his temper more and more, he exclaimed: "Sir Rowland's absurd
partiality has spoiled the fellow utterly!"

"Sir Rowland must not bear all the blame," said Bradshawe,
interposing; then added slyly: "No wonder L'Isl