hing, nor any one."

"I 'll tell you what I believe, and believe firmly too,--which is, that
a pair of fellows so completely out at elbows as you and myself had
far better break stones on a highroad for a shilling a day than stand
cudgelling their wits how to live upon others."

"That is not my sentiment at all,--_suum cuique_,--stone-breaking to
the hard-handed; men of our stamp, Heathcote, have a right--a vested
right--to a smoother existence."

"Well, time will tell who is right," said Heathcote, carelessly, as he
put on his hat and walked to the door. A half-cold good-bye followed,
and they parted.

Hour after hour he walked the streets, unmindful of a thin misty rain
that fell unceasingly. He was now completely alone in the world, and
there was a sort of melancholy pleasure in the sense of his desolation.
"My poor father!" he would mutter from time to time; "if I could only
think that he would forget me! if I could but bring myself to believe
that after a time he would cease to sorrow for me!" He did not dare to
utter more, nor even to himself declare how valueless he deemed life,
but strolled listlessly onward, till the gray streaks in the murky sky
proclaimed the approach of morning.

Was it with some vague purpose or was it by mere accident that he found
himself standing at last near the barracks at Knightsbridge, around the
gate of which a group of country-looking young fellows was gathered,
while here and there a sergeant was seen to hover, as if speculating on
his prey? It was a time in which more than one young man of station had
enlisted as a private, and the sharp eye of the crimp Boon scanned the
upright stature and well-knit frame of Heathcote.

"Like to be a dragoon, my man?" said he, with an easy, swaggering air.

"I have some thought of it," said the other, coldly.

"You 've served already, I suspect," said the sergeant, in a more
respectful tone.

"For what regiment are you enlisting?" asked Heathcote, coldly,
disregarding the other's inquiry.

"Her Majesty's Bays,--could you ask better? But here's my officer."

Before Heathcote had well heard the words, his name was called out, and
a slight, boyish figure threw his arms about him.

"Charley, how glad I am to see you!" cried he.

"Agincourt!--is this you?" said Heathcote, blushing deeply as he spoke.

"Yes, I have had my own way at last; and I'm going to India too."

"I am not," said Heathcote, bitterly. "They 'll not have me at the