'None.'
'None!' he reiterated.
'I shall go alone on this hazardous enterprise.'
'And you dare hope to achieve this—to spike these obnoxious guns?'
'Yes; I hope to do anything I make up my mind to, from foraying a hen-roost to firing a city.'
'Bravo, my boy! you should have been with me in Poland and Bavaria!'
With a heart full of hope, ardour, and anxiety, I left his presence to ponder over my undertaking, and on reflection, the desperation of it crushed and appalled me. It seemed as if I had suddenly made up my mind to perish—to sacrifice life and existence for a bubble, when even, with all the chances and mischances of war, I might have many years to live, and much to achieve—and though mentioned last, not thought of least, the restoration of my ruined house and humbled family to their ancient name and fame at home.
'Blane, when compared with this project of yours, the ideas of Don Quixote were superlative wisdom!' said the Marquis of Gordon gloomily, when I rejoined the Garde du Corps.
'But my honour is pledged.'
'True,' he replied; 'and the honour of the Garde du Corps Ecossais too, my dear fellow, for the eyes of the whole army will be on you now. But, doubtless, you have some fair maid of Galloway at home, whose heart will leap when she hears of this; or perhaps some pretty one in gay Paris, who, whether you fall or succeed, will read with joy the triumph of your bravery in the "Mercure Française."'