The colonel was a tall thin man, with a very pale face, and a very hooked nose. He was not exactly rocking the cradle of Tippoo Wellington, as supposed by his wife, but he was reposing in an easy attitude, with his head thrown back, and his feet thrown forward, and his hands deeply ensconced in his pockets. The apparition of a stranger roused him in a moment. He was as indefatigable in politeness, as his wife had been in her regimental duties.
"I was in hopes of finding my brother, Captain Hope, in the barracks, sir," she began; "but as I am disappointed, I throw myself on your indulgence, in requesting a few minutes' private conversation."
"A sister of Captain Hope? delighted to see you, my dear—did you see Mrs Sword as you came in?"
"For a minute, but she was busy, and referred me to you."
"She's very good, I am sure," said the colonel.—"How can I be of use?"
"I have a sister, Colonel Sword, very thoughtless, and very young. She became acquainted about a year ago with Mr Chatterton of your regiment—they were engaged—all the friends on both sides approved of the match, and all of a sudden Mr Chatterton wrote a very insulting letter, and withdrew from his engagement."
"The devil he did? Is your sister like you, my dear?"
"We are said to be like, but she is much younger—only eighteen."
"Then this Chatterton is an ass. Good God! what chances silly fellows throw away! And what would you have me do?"
"Prevent a duel, Colonel Sword. My brother is hot and fiery; Mr Chatterton is rash and headstrong. There will be enquiries, explanations, quarrels, and bloodshed. Oh, Colonel, help me to guard against so dreadful a calamity. I was anxious to see Charles, to tell him that the rupture was on Marion's side—that she had taken a dislike to Chatterton. We have kept it secret from every body yet. I haven't even told my husband."