entative
and Charge d'Affaires at this Court."

"Where the deuce was it I heard your name?
Darner--Darner--Skeff--Skeffy--I think they called you? Who could it be
that mentioned you?"

"Not impossibly the newspapers, though I suspect they did not employ the
familiarity you speak of."

"Well, Skeff, what's all this business we're bent on? What wildgoose
chase are we after here?"

Darner was almost sick with indignation at the fellow's freedom; he
nearly burst with the effort it cost him to repress his passion; but he
remembered how poor Tony Butler's fate lay in the balance, and that if
anything should retard his journey by even an hour, that one hour might
decide his friend's destiny.

"Might I take the liberty to observe, sir, that our acquaintance is of
the very shortest; and until I shall desire, which I do not anticipate,
the privilege of addressing you by your Christian name--"

"I am called Milo," said M'Caskey; "but no man ever called me so but the
late Duke of Wellington; and once, indeed, in a moment of enthusiasm,
poor Byron."

"I shall not imitate them, and I desire that you may know me as Mr.
Damer."

"Damer or Skeffy--I don't care a rush which--only tell me where are we
going, and what are we going for?"

Skeff proceeded in leisurely fashion, but with a degree of cold reserve
that he hoped might check all freedom, to explain that he was in search
of a young countryman, whom he desired to recall from his service with
Garibaldi, and restore to his friends in England.

"And you expect me to cross over to Garibaldi's lines?" asked M'Caskey,
with a grin.

"I certainly reckon on your accompanying me wherever I deem it essential
to proceed in furtherance of my object. Your General said as much when
he offered me your services."

"No man disposes of M'Caskey but the Sovereign he serves."

"Then I can't see what you have come for!" cried Skeff, angrily.

"Take care, take care," said the other, slowly.

"Take care of what?"

"Take care of Skeffington Darner, who is running his head into a very
considerable scrape. I have the most tenacious of memories; and
there's not a word--not a syllable--falls from you, I 'll not make you
accountable for hereafter."

"If you imagine, sir, that a tone of braggadocio--"

"There you go again. Braggadocio costs blood, my young fellow."

"I'm not to be bullied."

"No; but you might be shot."

"You 'll find me as ready as yourself with the pistol."

"I am