but seeing that I left you in such charming company, with
one whose--['No, that won't do--I must strike out that;
and so he murmured over the lines ending in 'company.' and
then went on.]--I have no misgivings about being either
missed or wanted.--['Better, perhaps, missed or
regretted.'] We have been too long friends to--['No, we
are too old pals, that's better--he does n't care much for
friendship']--too old pals to make me suspect you will be
displeased with this--this unforeseen--['That's a
capital word!--unforeseen what? It's always calamity
comes after unforeseen; but I can't call it calamity']--
unforeseen 'bolt over the ropes,' and believe me as ever, or
believe me 'close as wax,'

"Yours, A. B."

"A regular diplomatic touch, I call that note," said he, as he reread it
to himself with much complacency. "Lack-ington thinks me a 'flat;' then
let any one read that, and say if the fellow that wrote it is a fool."
And now he sealed and directed his epistle, having very nearly addressed
it to Grog, instead of to Captain Davis. "His temper won't be angelic
when he gets it," muttered he, "but I'll be close to Liege by that
time." And with this very reassuring reflection he jumped into bed
again, determining to remain awake till daybreak.

Wearied out at last with watching, Annesley Beecher fell off asleep, and
so soundly, too, that it was not till twice spoken to he could arouse
and awaken.

"Eh, what is it, Rivers?" cried he, as he saw the trim training-groom at
his side. "Anything wrong with the horse?"

"No, sir, nothing; _he's_ all right, anyhow."

"What is it, then; any one from town looking for us?"

"No, sir, nobody whatever. It's the Captain himself--"

"What of him? Is he ill?"

"Sound as a roach, sir; he's many a mile off by this. Says he to me,
'Rivers,' says he, 'when you gets back to the Tirlemont, give this note
to Mr. Beecher; he 'll tell you afterwards what's to be done. Only,'
says he, 'don't forget to rub a little of the white oils on that near
hock; very weak,' says he; 'be sure it's very weak, so as not to blister
him.' Ain't he a wonderful man, sir, to be thinking o' that at such a
moment?"

"Draw the curtain, there,--let me have more light," cried Beecher,
eagerly, as he opened the small and crumpled piece of paper. The
contents were in pencil, and very brief,--

"I 'm off through the Ardennes towards Treves;