“I have lived,” said the quarter-master, calmly, “an honest man; and I’ll die a stout one, too. When the order comes, it shall be willingly obeyed. Mine, Josh, shall not be a felon’s hardihood, but the humble dependency of one who believes that mercy is great, and faults will be forgiven. Now, Josh, were old bare-bones at your elbow”—“Confound such nonsense!” cried the lawyer, pushing his unfinished glass away, and catching up his hat hastily. As he crossed the threshold, his murmurings were any thing but prayers; and when the door closed, peace seemed to return again, and all of us felt that “something wicked” had departed.
Next morning, my father went out according to his custom, and he was absent longer than usual. When he returned, it was announced that lie had formed an acquaintance with the stranger, whose advent had not only roused my uncle’s curiosity, but created a general sensation throughout the hamlet. My father informed us, that his young friend was a lieutenant in a light dragoon regiment; his name, Seymour; his connexions, noble; and, more important still, that he, the quarter-master, had asked him to dinner, and that the invitation was freely accepted.
At the appointed hour the stranger came. His appearance was very prepossessing,—his manners those of a man who had moved in good society;—and there was, besides, an easiness in his address that dispelled my timidity, and placed us on terms of intimacy at once. That evening, the foundation of an ill-omened attachment was laid. Seymour had established himself in the good opinions of my father and myself; and no one was better able to turn a favourable impression to advantage.
Breakfast had scarcely ended on the morrow, when my uncle dropped in. He was dying to be informed of every particular we had learned concerning the stranger; and, unluckily, our scanty stock of information was anything but satisfactory.
“Why, hang it!” said Josiah Rawlings, “have you given that chap dinner and drink, and made out nothing in return for the outlay, but that he calls himself Seymour, and says that he’s a dragoon? I don’t believe either story.”
“You don’t?”
“Not one syllable,” said the lawyer.
“And why?” returned my father.
“Because,” responded Josiah, “it’s very easy to tell a lie; and sometimes, also, very convenient.”
“Pshaw! nonsense,” said the quarter-master.