"Ah, you're safe now; but what says the couplet?"
"What couplet? I don't know."
"It says that to you, my friend,
"From wedlock's noose thus once by fate exempt,
The next may prove, alas! a noose of hemp!"
The ensign was about to make an angry retort, when Warriston gave the command,
"Threes right—quick march! come, come, move off, gentlemen." The sharp drums and shrill fifes struck up merrily in the echoing streets (it was the unvarying 'Girl I left behind me'); a lusty cheer from the departing recruits was loudly responded to by the people around and from those at many a window. Others followed, loud, long, and hearty, and catching the spirit of enthusiasm from those about him, Quentin felt every pulse throb, every nerve and fibre quicken, as his heart became light and joyous, and as Warriston drew his arm through his own, and falling into the rear of the party, they departed from the inn.
How different were Quentin's emotions now, when compared to the sense of dejection and desolation, with which, portmanteau in hand, he had entered that ancient caravanserai yesterday!
"Now for your first day's march, Kennedy," said the captain; "never mind the past—it is gone for ever, and is useless now."
"Unless it afford me some hint to guide me for the future."
"Right," said the captain; "faith! boy, I like your spirit and reflective turn."