"The last time I was in this quarter, a strange affair happened," said the corporal.
"How?" I inquired.
"Our chaplain fought a duel."
"A duel—your chaplain?"
"Yes—with a cornet of Eland's Horse."
"About some point of scripture?"
"About a pretty girl, and the poor cornet was run through the body, and left dead, near the gate of a hall—Netherwood, I think 'tis called."
"Were you in the Greys, then?" I inquired.
"No—I was in the Dragoon Guards, and I had not the honour to be a corporal," he replied, while a dark expression stole over his handsome and sunburnt face.
"Have you seen service?" I asked.