rant happiness
which is that man's portion who weaves out a story of his life, and who, in
connecting the promise of early years with the performance of later, will
seek to fulfil a fate and destiny.

Weaving such fancies, I fell sound asleep, nor woke before the stir and
bustle of the great city aroused me. Power, I found, had been twice at my
quarters that morning, but fearing to disturb me, had merely left a few
lines to say that, as he should be engaged on service during the day,
we could not meet before the evening. There were certain preliminaries
requisite regarding my leave which demanded my appearing before a board of
medical officers, and I immediately set about dressing; resolving that, as
soon as they were completed, I should, if permitted, retire to one of the
small cottages on the opposite bank of the Tagus, there to remain until my
restored health allowed me to rejoin my regiment.

I dreaded meeting the Dashwoods. I anticipated with a heavy heart how
effectually one passing interview would destroy all my day-dreams of
happiness, and I preferred anything to the sad conviction of hopelessness
such a meeting must lead to.

While I thus balanced with myself how to proceed, a gentle step came to the
door, and as it opened slowly, a servant in a dark livery entered.

"Mr. O'Malley, sir?"

"Yes," said I, wondering to whom my arrival could be thus early known.

"Sir George Dashwood requests you will step over to him as soon as you go
out," continued the man; "he is so engaged that he cannot leave home, but
is most desirous to see you."

"It is not far from here?"

"No, sir; scarcely five minutes' walk."

"Well, then, if you will show me the way, I'll follow you."

I cast one passing glance at myself to see that all was right about my
costume, and sallied forth.

In the middle of the Black Horse Square, at the door of a large,
stone-fronted building, a group of military men were assembled, chatting
and laughing away together,--some reading the lately-arrived English
papers; others were lounging upon the stone parapet, carelessly puffing
their cigars. None of the faces were known to me; so threading my way
through the crowd, I reached the steps. Just as I did so, a half-muttered
whisper met my ear:--

"Who did you say?"

"O'Malley, the young Irishman who behaved so gallantly at the Douro."

The blood rushed hotly to my cheek, my heart bounded with exultation; my
step, infirm and tottering but a mom