"Hallo! talk of the——" began Monkton, clapping him on the back; "we were just talking about you—thought you lost, gone, and all that sort of thing, a martyr to duty; but welcome back, my dear lad!"
"Where is old Major Middleton?"
"With Buckle in rear of the column."
"And little Boyle?"
"Oh, Pimple is with Colyear carrying the colours; but where have you been, and what the deuce have you been about, eh?"
"You look pale and weary to begin a march this morning, sir," said some of the soldiers, kindly, for Quentin was a favourite with them all.
"You must have a horse," said Askerne: "you look absolutely ill, Quentin; how is this?"
"It is a long story, Askerne," replied Kennedy, with a haggard smile.
"Egad, I thought, and we all thought, the duty one beyond your years and experience."
"Make way here in front, please; mark time, the grenadiers," said an authoritative voice as the column issued from the city gate, and an officer who nearly rode our hero down, pushed his horse between the band and the first section of the grenadier company. Quentin looked indignantly up, and found the cold, stern, and uncompromising eye of Cosmo, the Master of Rohallion, steadily bent upon him.