A heavy sigh escaped the sergeant; the drum-major's knife gave a final rip, and he stood once more a private on parade!
"The worst part of your sentence yet remains—unless—unless you volunteer into the York Chasseurs."
"Major Middleton," said Grange, firmly, and standing erect, like a fine man as he was, "I'll not leave the regiment!"
The man was fearfully pale, and it was evident to all that Middleton, though a strict and sometimes severe officer, was greatly moved.
"You will rather take three hundred and fifty lashes than volunteer?" he asked.
"I'd volunteer for a forlorn hope; I've done so before now, sir, as you know well, but I'll not quit the old 25th for a condemned corps. I'll take my punishment—I've earned it like a fool, and with God's help, I hope to bear it like a man."
"Then strip, sir," said Middleton, playing nervously with the blue ribbons of his gorget.
All emotion seemed to pass away as the culprit proceeded deliberately to unclasp his leather stock and unbutton his coat; but before it was off the major exclaimed in a loud voice, as he drew a letter from his pocket—
"Stop!"
Grange paused, and looked up with a haggard and bloodshot eye.