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Had Skeff been in any mood for mirth, he might have enjoyed as rich drollery the almost inconceivable impertinence of his companion, who scrutinised everything, and freely distributed his comments around him, totally regardless that he stood in the camp of the enemy, and actually surrounded by men whose extreme obedience to discipline could scarcely be relied

on.

"Uniformity is certainly not studied here," cried M'Caskey, as he stared at a guard about to be detached on some duty; "three fellows have grey trousers; two, blue; one, a sort of canvass petticoat; and I see only one real coat in the party."

A little farther on he saw a group of about a dozen lying on the grass smoking, with their arms in disorderly fashion about, and he exclaimed, "How I'd like to surprise those rascals, and make a swoop down here with two or three companies of Cacciatori! Look at their muskets; there hasn't been one of them cleaned for a month.

"Here they are at a meal of some sort. Well, men won't fight on beans and olive-oil. My Irish fellows are the only devils can stand up on roots.'

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These comments were all delivered in Italian, and listened to with a sort of bewildered astonishment, as though the man who spoke them must possess some especial

and peculiar privilege to enable him to indulge so much candour.

"That's not a knapsack," said he, kicking a soldier's pack that he saw on the grass; "that's more like a travelling tinker's bundle. Open it, and let's see the inside!" cried he to the owner, who, awed by the tone of command, immediately obeyed, and M'Caskey ridiculed the shreds and patches of raiment, the tattered fragments of worn apparel, in which fragments of cheese and parcels of tobacco were rolled up. Why, the fellows have not even risen to the dignity of pillage," said he. "I was sure we should have found some saintly ornaments or a piece of the Virgin's petticoat among their wares.'

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With all this freedom, carried to the extreme of impertinence, none molested,none ever questioned them; and as the guide had accidentally chanced upon some old friends by the way, he told M'Caskey that they had no further need of him; that the road lay straight before them, and that they would reach Cava in less than an hour.

At Cava they found the same indifference. They learned that Garibaldi had not come up, though some said he had passed on with a few followers to Naples, and others maintained that he had sent to the King of Naples to meet him at Salerno to show him the inutility of all resistance, and offer him a safeconduct out of the kingdom. Leav

ing M'Caskey in the midst of these talkers, and not perhaps without some uncharitable wish that the gallant Colonel's bad tongue would involve him in serious trouble, Skeffy slipped away to inquire after Tony.

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Every one seemed to know that there was a brave " Irlandese,❞—a daring fellow who had shown himself in the thick of every fight; but the discrepant accounts of his personal appearance and looks were most confusing. Tony was fairhaired, and yet most of the descriptions represented a dark man, with a bushy black beard and mustache. At all events, he was lying wounded at the convent of the Cappuccini, on a hill about a mile from the town; and Father PantaleoGaribald's Vicar, as he was calledoffered his services to show him the way. The Frate-a talkative little fellow, with a fringe of curly dark-brown hair around a polished white head-talked away, as they went, about the war, and Garibaldi, and the grand future that lay before Italy, when the tyranny of the Pope should be overthrown, and the Church made as free-and indeed he almost said, as easy-as any jovial Christian could desire.

Skeffy, by degrees, drew him to the subject nearest his own heart at the moment, and asked about the wounded in hospital. The Frate declared that there was nothing very serious the matter with any of them. He was an optimist. Some died, some suffered amputations, some were torn by shells or grapeshot. But what did it signify? as he said. It was a great cause they were fighting for, and they all agreed it was a pleasure to shed one's blood for Italy. "As for the life up there," said he, pointing to the convent, it is a vita da santithe life of saints themselves.'"

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ble news, and he could barely steady himself by catching the Fra's

arm.

"Oh, my poor dear Tony," cried he, as the tears ran down his face-" my poor fellow!"

"Why did you pity him? Garibaldi gave him his own sword, and made him an officer on the day of the battle. It was up at Calanzaro, so that he's nearly well now."

Skeff poured in innumerable questions. How the mischance occurred, and where? how he bore up under the dreadful operation? in what state he then was? if able to move about, and how? And as the Fra was one of those who never confessed himself unable to answer anything, the details he obtained were certainly of the fullest and most circumstantial.

"He's always singing; that's how he passes his time," said the Frate.

Singing! how strange! I never knew him to sing. I never heard him even hum a tune."

"You'll hear him now, then. The fellows about curse at him half the day to be silent, but he doesn't mind them, but sings away. The only quiet moment he gives them is while he's smoking."

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Ah, yes! he loves smoking." There-stop. Listen. Do you hear him? he's at it now." Skeff halted, and could hear the sound of a full deep voice, from a window overhead, in one of those prolonged and melancholy cadences which Irish airs abound in.

"Wherever he got such doleful music I can't tell, but he has a dozen chants like that."

Though Skeff could not distinguish the sounds, nor recognise the voice of his friend, the thought that it was poor Tony who was there singing in his solitude, maimed and suffering, without one near to comfort him, so overwhelmed him that he staggered towards a bench, and sat down sick and faint.

"Go up and say that a friend, a dear friend, has come from Naples to see him; and if he is not too

nervous or too much agitated, tell him my name; here it is." The friar

took the card and hurried forward on his mission. In less time than Skeff thought it possible for him to have arrived, Pantaleo called out from the window, Come along; he is quite ready to see you, though he doesn't remember you.'

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Skeff fell back upon the seat at the last words. "Not rememberme! my poor Tony-my poor, poor fellow-how changed and shattered you must be, to have forgotten me!" With a great effort he rallied, entered the gate, and mounted the stairs-slowly indeed, and like one who dreaded the scene that lay before him. Pantaleo met him at the top, and, seeing his agitation, gave him his arm for support. 'Don't be nervous," said he, your friend is doing capitally: he is out on the terrace in an arm-chair, and looks as jolly as a cardinal.”

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Summoning all his courage, Skeff walked bravely forwards, passed down the long aisle crowded with sick and wounded on either side, and passed out upon a balcony at the end, where, with his back towards him, a man sat looking out over the landscape.

"Tony, Tony!" said Skeffy, coming close. The man turned his head, and Skeff saw a massivelooking face, all covered with black hair, and a forehead marked by a sabre-cut. This is not my friend. This is not Tony!” cried he, in disappointment.

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No, sir; I'm Rory Quin, the man that was with him," said the wounded man, submissively.

"And where is he himself? Where is Tony?" cried he.

"In the little room beyond, sir. They put him there when he began to rave; but he's better now, and quite sensible."

"Take me to him at once; let me see him," said Skeff, whose impatience had now mastered all prudence.

The moment after, Skeff found himself in a small chamber, with a single bed in it, beside which a

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Sister of Charity was seated, busily employed laying cloths wet with iced water on the sick man's head. One glance showed that it was Tony. The eyes were closed, and the face thinner, and the lips dry; but there was a hardy manhood in the countenance, sick and suffering as he was, that told what qualities a life of hardship and peril had called into activity. The Sister motioned to Skeff to sit down, but not to speak. "He's not sleeping," said she, softly, "only dozing."

"Is he in pain?" asked Skeffy. "No; I have no pain," said Tony, faintly.

Skeff bent down to whisper some words close to his ear, when he heard a step behind. He looked up and saw it was M'Caskey, who had followed him. "I came here, sir," said the Colonel, haughtily, "to express my astonishment at your unceremonious departure, and also to say that I shall now hold myself as free of all further engagement towards you."

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Hush, be quiet," said Skeff, with a gesture of caution.

"Is that your friend?" asked M'Caskey, with a smile.

Tony slowly opened his eyes at these words, looked at the speaker, turned his gaze then on Skeff, gave a weak, sickly smile, and then, in a faint, scarce audible voice, said, "So he is your godfather, after all."

Skeff's heart grew full to bursting, and for a moment or two he could not speak.

"There there, no more," whispered the Sister, and she motioned them both to withdraw. Skeff arose at once, and slipped noiselessly away, but the Colonel stepped boldly along, regardless of everything and every one.

"He's wandering in his mind, I take it," said M'Caskey, in a loud, unfeeling tone.

"By all that's holy, there's the scoundrel I'm dying to get at," screamed Rory, as the voice caught his ear. Give me that crutch; let me have one lick at him, for the love of Mary!"

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My story draws to a close, and I have not space to tell how Skeff watched beside his friend, rarely quitting him, and showing in a hundred ways the resources of a kind and thoughtful nature. Tony had been severely wounded; a sabre-cut had severed his scalp, and he had been shot through the shoulder; but all apprehension of evil consequences was now over, and he was able to listen to Skeff's wondrous tidings, and hear all the details of his accession to wealth and fortune. His mother - how she would rejoice at it! how happy it would make her!-not for her own sake, but for his; how it would seem to repay to her all she had suffered from the haughty estrangement of Sir Omerod, and how proud she would be at the recognition, late though it came! These were Tony's thoughts; and very often, when Skeff imagined him to be following the details of his property, and listening with eagerness to the description of what he owned, Tony was far away in thought at the cottage beside the Causeway, and longing ardently when he should sit at the window, with his mother at his side, planning out some future in which they were to be no more separated.

There was no elation at his sudden fortune, nor any of that anticipation of indulgence which Skeff himself would have felt, and which he indeed suggested. No. Tony's whole thoughts so much centred in his dear mother that she entered into all his projects; and there was not a picture of enjoyment, wherein she was not a foreground figure.

They would keep the cottage-that was his first resolve: his mother loved it dearly; it was associated with years long of happiness and of trials too; and trials can endear a spot when they are nobly borne, and the heart will cling fondly to that which has chastened its emotions and elevated its hopes. And then, Tony thought, they might obtain that long stretch of land that lay along the shore, with the little nook where the boats lay at anchor, and where he would have his yacht. "I suppose," said he, “Sir Arthur Lyle would have no objection to my being so near a neighbour?”

"Of course not; but we can soon settle that point, for they are all here."

"Here?"

"At Naples, I mean."

"How was it that you never told me that?" asked he, sharply.

Skeff fidgeted-bit his cigarthrew it away; and with more confusion than became so distinguished a diplomatist, stammered out, "I have had so much to tell you—such lots of news; " and then with an altered voice he added, "besides, old fellow, the doctor warned me not to say anything that might agitate you; and I thought—that is, I used to think-there was something in that quarter, eh?"

Tony grew pale, but made no

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married immediately-that is, as soon as I can get back to England. I have asked for leave already; they've refused me twice. very fine saying to me that I ought to know that in the present difficulties of Italy no man could replace me at this Court. My answer to that is: Skeff Damer has other stuff in him as well as ambition. He has a heart just as much as a head. Nor am I to go on passing my life saving this dynasty.. The Bourbons are not so much to me as my own happiness, eh?”

"I suppose not," said Tony, dryly.

"You'd have done the same, wouldn't you?"

"I can't tell. I cannot even imagine myself filling any station of responsibility or importance."

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My reply was brief: Leave for six months' time, to recruit an over-taxed frame and over-wrought intellect; time also for them to look out what to offer me, for I'll not go to Mexico, nor to Rio; neither will I take Washington, nor any of the Northern Courts. Dearest Bella must have climate, and I myself must have congenial society; and so I said, not in such terms, but in meaning, Skeff Damer is only yours at his price. Let them refuse me- -let me see them even hesitate, and I give my word of honour, I'm capable of abandoning public life altogether, and retiring into my woods at Tilney, leaving the whole thing at sixes and sevens."

Now, though Tony neither knew what the "whole thing" meant, nor the dire consequences to which his friend's anger might have consigned it, he muttered something that sounded like a hope that he would not leave Europe to shift for herself at such a moment.

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"On my word, I cannot." "Don't you think Mr Butler of something or other in Herefordshire is another guess man from Tony Butler of nowhere in particular?"

"Ah! I forgot my change of fortune; but if I had even remembered it, I'd never have thought so meanly of her."

"That's all rot and nonsense. There's no meanness in a woman wanting to marry her daughter well, any more than in a man trying to get a colonelcy or a legation for his son. You were no match for Alice Trafford three months ago. both she and her mother will think differently of your pretensions.”

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Say what you like of the mother, but you shall not impute such motives to Alice."

"Don't you get red in the face and look like a tiger, young man, or I'll take my leave and send that old damsel here with the ice-pail to you."

"It was the very thing I liked in you," muttered Tony, "that you never did impute mean motives to women."

"My poor Tony! the fellow who has seen life as I have, who knows the thing in its most minute anatomy, comes out of the investigation infernally case-hardened; he can't help it. I love Alice. Indeed, if I had not seen Bella I think I should have married Alice. you are getting turkey-cock again. Let us talk of something else. What the deuce was it I wanted to ask you?-something about that great Irish monster in the next room, the fellow that sings all day: where did you pick him up?"

There,

Tony made no reply, but lay with

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