“What name shall I give him?” said the priest.
“His father’s,” rejoined the Colonel.
“That was Marc,” observed the sergeant.
“What’s in a name?” said Dr. Hamilton.
“More than one would suppose, Doctor,” replied my father. “Our red-headed adjutant married a Bath heiress almost at sight, for after but a two hours’ siege she surrendered at discretion, declaring that it was utterly impossible to hold out against a lover whose appellatives were Julius Cæsar.”
“Then add Antony to his patronymic, and your protégé will prove irresistible.”
“Marc Antony be it then,” replied the priest; and in five minutes the ceremony was complete. The sergeant retired to finish his supper below stairs, and the orphan was returned to the nursery, named after that amorous Roman, who “for a queen of fifty” gave up a world.
