t, and for a quarter of an hour the
youths smoked on complacently, when just as the exultation of the public
singing was giving way to a peculiar sensation of depression and
sickness, and each longed to throw away half his cigar, but did not
dare, Adam Gray came up to where they were seated, gradually growing
pale and wan.

"Ah, Gray," said the ensign, "what is it?"

"The major, sir, requests that you will favour him with your company
directly."

"My company?" cried the ensign; "what's the matter?"

"Don't know, sir; but I think it's something about those slave girls.
And Captain Horton requested me to tell you to come too, sir," he
continued, turning to Bob Roberts.

"We're going to get promotion, I know, Tom," said the middy.

"No, no," said the ensign, dolefully, "it's a good wigging."

Bob Roberts, although feeling far from exalted now, did not in anywise
believe in the possibility of receiving what his companion euphoniously
termed a "wigging," and with a good deal of his customary independent,
and rather impudent, swagger he followed the orderly to a cool lamp-lit
room, where sat in solemn conclave, the resident, Major Sandars, and
Captain Horton.

"That will do, Gray," said Major Sandars, as the youths entered, and
saluted the three officers seated like judges at a table, "but be within
hearing."

"Might ask us to sit down," thought Bob, as he saw from the aspect of
the three gentlemen that something serious was afloat.

But the new arrivals were not asked to sit down, and they stood before
the table feeling very guilty, and like a couple of prisoners; though of
what they had been guilty, and why they were brought there, they could
not imagine.

"It's only their serious way," thought Bob; "they are going to
compliment us."

He stared at the shaded lamp, round which four or five moths and a big
beetle were wildly circling in a frantic desire to commit suicide, but
kept from a fiery end by gauze wire over the chimney.

"What fools moths and beetles are!" thought Bob, and then his attention
was taken up by the officers.

"Will you speak, Major Sandars?" said the resident.

"No, I think it should come from you, Mr Linton. What do you say,
Captain Horton?"

"I quite agree with you, Major Sandars," said the captain stiffly.

"What the dickens have we been doing?" thought Bob; and then he stared
hard at the resident, and wished heartily that Rachel Linton's father
had not been chosen to give him