ef,
Mina, borrowed two men on Wellington's bond--the scoundrel would lend no
more--and actually brought off the rescue at Beasain, a few miles on
this side of the frontier. One of our shots broke the young officer's
sword-arm, the trooper was pitched from his horse and stunned, and
behold! my kinsman in our hands, safe and sound.

"It was then, reverend father, that I first heard of his parole.
He informed me of it, and while thanking me for my succour, refused to
accept it. 'Very well done,' say you as a Doctor of Morality.
But meanwhile I was searching the young officer, and finding a letter
upon him from the Duke of Ragusa, broke the seal. 'Not so well done,'
say you: but again wait a moment. This letter was addressed to the
Governor of Bayonne, and gave orders that Captain McNeill, as a spy and
a dangerous man, should be forwarded to Paris in irons. There was also
a hint that a request for his execution might accompany him to Paris.
And this was a prisoner who, on promise of clemency, had given his
parole! Now what, in your opinion, was a fair course for our friend
here, on proof of this dirty treachery?"

"We will reserve this as Question Number Two," answered the Doctor
gravely, "and proceed with the narrative, which (I opine) goes on to say
that Captain McNeill preferred his oath to the excuse for considering it
annulled, collected his escort, shook hands with you, and went forward
to his fate."

"A man must save his soul," Captain McNeill explained modestly.

"You are to me, sir, a heretic (pardon my saying it); which prevents me
from taking as cheerful a view as I could wish concerning your soul.
But assuredly you saved your honour."

"Well, I hope so," the Captain answered, picking up the story:
"but really, in the sequel, I had to take some decisions which, obvious
as they seemed at the time, have since caused me grave searchings of
heart, and upon which I shall be grateful for your opinion."

"Am I appealed to as a priest?"

"Most certainly not, but as a Professor--a title for which, by the way,
we have in Scotland an extraordinary reverence. I rode on, sir, with my
escort, and that night we reached Tolosa, where the young Lieutenant--
his name was Gerard--found a surgeon to set his bone. He suffered
considerable pain, yet insisted next morning upon proceeding with me.
I imagine his motives to have been mixed; but please myself with
thinking that a latent desire to serve me made one of them.