hink I recognize your friend's voice," said Conway, when Beecher
next joined him. "If I 'm right, it's a fellow I 've an old grudge
against."

"Don't have it out, then,--that 's all," broke in Beecher, hastily.
"I 'd just as soon go into a cage and dispute a bone with one of Van
Amburgh's tigers, as I 'd 'bring _him_ to book.'"

"Make your mind easy about that," said Conway. "I never go in search
of old scores. I would only say, don't leave yourself more in his power
than you can easily escape from. As for myself, it's very unlikely I
shall ever see him again."

"I wish you'd given up the Crimea," said Beecher, who, by one of the
strange caprices of his strange nature, began to feel a sort of liking
for Conway.

"Why should I give it up? It's the only career I 'm fit for,--if I even
be fit for that, which, indeed, the Horse Guards don't seem to think.
But I 've got an old friend in the Piedmontese service who is going
out in command of the cavalry, and I 'm on my way now to Turin to
see whether he cannot make me something,--anything, in short, from
an aide-de-camp to an orderly. Once before the enemy, it matters
wonderfully little what rank a man holds."

"The chances of his being knocked over are pretty much alike," said
Beecher, "if that's what you mean."

"Not exactly," said Conway, laughing, "not exactly, though even in
_that_ respect the calculation is equal."

They now walked the deck step for step together in silence. The
conversation had arrived at that point whence, if not actually
confidential, it could proceed no further without becoming so, and so
each appeared to feel it, and yet neither was disposed to lead the way.
Beecher was one of those men who regard the chance persons they meet
with in life just as they would accidental spots where they halt when on
a journey,--little localities to be enjoyed at the time, and never, in
all likelihood, revisited. In this way they obtained far more of his
confidence than if he was sure to be in constant habits of intercourse
with them. He felt they were safe depositaries, just as he would have
felt a lonely spot in a wood a secure hiding-place for whatever
he wanted to conceal. Now he was already--we are unable to say
why--disposed to like Conway, and he would gladly have revealed to him
much that lay heavily at his heart,--many a weighty care, many a sore
misgiving. There was yet remaining in his nature that reverence and
respect for honesty of character whic