E BROTHERS.

One day, as Falconer sat at a late breakfast, Shargar burst into his
room. Falconer had not even known that he was coming home, for he had
outstripped the letter he had sent. He had his arm in a sling, which
accounted for his leave.

'Shargar!' cried Falconer, starting up in delight.

'Major Shargar, if you please. Give me all my honours, Robert,' said
Moray, presenting his left hand.

'I congratulate you, my boy. Well, this is delightful! But you are
wounded.'

'Bullet--broken--that's all. It's nearly right again. I'll tell you
about it by and by. I am too full of something else to talk about
trifles of that sort. I want you to help me.'

He then rushed into the announcement that he had fallen desperately in
love with a lady who had come on board with her maid at Malta, where she
had been spending the winter. She was not very young, about his own
age, but very beautiful, and of enchanting address. How she could have
remained so long unmarried he could not think. It could not be but that
she had had many offers. She was an heiress, too, but that Shargar felt
to be a disadvantage for him. All the progress he could yet boast of was
that his attentions had not been, so far as he could judge, disagreeable
to her. Robert thought even less of the latter fact than Shargar
himself, for he did not believe there were many women to whom Shargar's
attentions would be disagreeable: they must always be simple and manly.
What was more to the point, she had given him her address in London, and
he was going to call upon her the next day. She was on a visit to Lady
Janet Gordon, an elderly spinster, who lived in Park-street.

'Are you quite sure she's not an adventuress, Shargar?'

'It's o' no mainner o' use to tell ye what I'm sure or no sure o',
Robert, in sic a case. But I'll manage, somehoo, 'at ye sall see her
yersel', an' syne I'll speir back yer ain queston at ye.'

'Weel, hae ye tauld her a' aboot yersel'?'

'No!' answered Shargar, growing suddenly pale. 'I never thocht aboot
that. But I had no richt, for a' that passed, to intrude mysel' upo' her
to that extent.'

'Weel, I reckon ye're richt. Yer wounds an' yer medals ought to weigh
weel against a' that. There's this comfort in 't, that gin she bena
richt weel worthy o' ye, auld frien', she winna tak ye.'

Shargar did not seem to see the comfort of it. He was depressed for the
remainder of the day. In the morning he was in wild spirits again. Just
bef