Sir,--In case I should not see you, has my time will be short,
I takes the liburty of writin' a line, and ham 'appy to hinform you,
as things seem to me awl a-goin' wrong, leastways I think you'll say so
when you 'ears my tail. Muster Richard's been back above a week, and
he and the Old Un is up to their same tricks again; but that ain't
awl--there's a black-haired pale chap cum with a heye like a nork, as
seems to me the baddest of the lot, and that ain't sayin' a little.
But there's worse news yet, for I'm afraid we ain't only get to contend
hagainst the henemy, but there's a traytur in the camp, _and that in a
quarter where you cares most_. Meet me tomorrow mornin' at the old place
at seven o'clock, when you shall 'ear more from, Your umbel servant, to
command,

"Peter Barnett, "late Sergeant in the --th Dragoons."

~389~~ Reader, do you wish me a good-night?--many thanks for your
kindness, but if you have any hope that your wish will be realised, you
must be of a very sanguine temperament, or you have never been in love.

CHAPTER XLVIII -- PAYING OFF OLD SCORES

"'Oh most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman?
Is there more?'
'More, sir, and worse.'"
--_Cymbeline_.

"The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he--
'Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from
me, That woman's faith's a brittle trust. Seven twelve-
months didst thou say? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth
beyond the seventh day.'"
--_Ballad of the Noble Moringer_

IT is a weary thing to lie tossing restlessly from side to side,
sleepless, through the silent watches of the night, spirit and matter
warring against each other--the sword gnawing and corroding its
sheath. A weary and harassing thing it is even where the body is the
aggressor--when the fevered blood, darting like liquid fire through the
veins, mounts to the throbbing brow, and, pressing like molten lead
upon the brain, crushes out thought and feeling, leaving but a dull
consciousness of the racking agony which renders each limb a separate
instrument of torture. If, on the other hand, it be the mind that is
pestilence-stricken, the disease becomes well-nigh unbearable, as it
is incurable; and thus it was with me on the night in question. The
suspense and anxiety I had undergone during the preceding day had
indisposed me for sustaining any fresh annoyance with equanimity, and
now, in confi