solitude. Mark
gone--the girls away--and no one left but Lady Lyle and myself. There's
your old friend; that's some of the '32 claret; fill your glass, and
tell me that you are come to pass some days with us."

"I wish I was, sir; but I have come to say good-bye. I 'm off to-morrow
for London."

"For London! What! another freak, Tony?"

"Scarcely a freak, sir," said he, smiling. "They 've telegraphed to me
to come up and report myself for service at the Foreign Office."

"As a Minister, eh?"

"No, sir; a Messenger."

"An excellent thing, too; a capital thing. A man must begin somewhere,
you know. Every one is not as lucky as I was, to start with close on
twelve hundred a year. I was n't twenty when I landed at Calcutta,
Tony,--a mere boy!" Here the baronet filled his glass, and drank it off
with a solemnity that seemed as if it were a silent toast to his own
health, for in his own estimation he merited that honor, very few men
having done more for themselves than he had; not that he had not
been over-grateful, however, to the fortune of his early days in this
boastful acknowledgment, since it was in the humble capacity of an
admiral's secretary--they called them clerks in those days--he had
first found himself in the Indian Ocean, a mere accident leading to his
appointment on shore and all his subsequent good fortune. "Yes, Tony,"
continued he, "I started at what one calls a high rung of the ladder. It
was then I first saw your father; he was about the same age as you are
now. He was on Lord Dollington's staff. Dear me, dear me! it seems like
yesterday;" and he closed his eyes, and seemed lost in revery; but if he
really felt like yesterday, he would have remembered how insolently the
superb aide-de-camp treated the meek civilian of the period, and how
immeasurably above Mr. Lyle of those days stood the haughty Captain
Butler of the Governor-General's staff.

"The soldiers used to fancy they had the best of it, Tony; but, I take
it, we civilians won the race at last;" and his eyes ranged over the
vast room, with the walls covered by pictures, and the sideboard
loaded with massive plate, while the array of decanters on the small
spider-table beside him suggested largely of good living.

"A very old friend of mine, Jos. Hughes--he was salt assessor at
Bussorabad--once remarked to me, 'Lyle,' said he, 'a man must make his
choice in life, whether he prefers a brilliant start or a good finish,
for he cannot have b