annoyance at the General. Dugald picked at
his fish with no appetite, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, a silent old
man palsied on one side, with a high bald head full of visions. "What's
that about the Argyls?" he said at last, with a start, brought to by the
tone and accent of his brother.

Cornal Colin cleared his throat, and read the notification of the billet

"Friday, did you say Friday?" asked Dugald, all abstraction gone.

"This very Friday."

The old man rose and threw back his shoulders with some of the gallantry
of his prime. He walked without a word to the window and looked at the
deserted street. Ten--fifteen--twenty years fell from his back as thus
he stood in the mingled light of the wan reluctant morning and the
guttering candles on the table. To Miss Mary, looking at him there
against the morning light, his figure--black and indefinite--was the
figure that went to Spain, the strong figure, the straight figure, the
figure that filled its clothes with manliness. There was but the oval
of the bald high head to spoil the illusion. He turned again and looked
into the candle-lit room, but seeing nothing there, for all his mind was
elsewhere.

"I thought," he muttered, brokenly, "I thought I would never see
red-coat again." Then he straightened his shoulders anew, and flexed the
sinews of his knees, and pressed the palsied hand against the breeches'
seam. The exertion brought a cough to his throat, a choking resistless
cough of age and clogging humours. It was Time's mocking reminder that
the morning parade was over for ever, and now the soldier must be at
ease. He gasped and spluttered, his figure lost its tenseness, and from
the fit of coughing he came back again an old and feeble man. He looked
at his hand trembling against his waist, at his feet in their large and
clumsy slippers; he looked at the picture of himself upon the wall, then
quitted the room with something like a sob upon his lip.

"Man! he's in a droll key about it!" said the Paymaster, breaking the
silence. "What in all the world is his vexation?"

Miss Mary put down her handkerchief impatiently and loaded Gilian at her
side with embarrassing attentions.

"What--in--all--the--world--is--his vexation?" mocked the Cornal in the
Captain's high and squeaking voice, reddening at the face and his
scar purpling. "That's a terribly stupid question to put, Jock.
What--in--all--the--world--is--his--vexation? If you had the soger's
heart and you