of being a something:  at least, I could live independent of my father, let the worst come to the worst; and I shall ever think this step gave me more real pleasure than either of the two subsequent ones which I have lived to attain.  No sooner, therefore, had I taken up my commission, than my thoughts turned on my Emily; and two days after the attainment of my rank, I mentioned to my father my intention of paying a visit to ——­ Hall.

He was at the time in high good humour; we were sitting over our bottle of claret, after an excellent tete-a-tete dinner, during which I contributed very much to his amusement by the recital of some of my late adventures.  He shuddered at my danger in the hurricane, and his good-humoured sides had well nigh cracked with laughter when I recounted my pranks at Quebec and Prince Edward’s Island.  When I spoke of Miss Somerville, my father said he had no doubt she would be happy to see me—­that she was now grown a very beautiful girl, and was the toast of the county.

I received this information with an apparent cool indifference which I was far from feeling inwardly, for my heart beat at the intelligence.  “Perhaps,” said I, picking my teeth, and looking at my mouth in a little ivory etui—­“perhaps she may be grown a fine girl:  she bade fair to be so when I saw her; but fine girls are very plenty now-a-days, since the Vaccine has turned out the small-pox.  Besides, the girls have now another chance of a good shape; they are allowed to take the air, instead of sitting all day, with their feet in the stocks and their dear sweet noses bent over a French grammar, under the rod of a French governess.”

Why I took so much pains to conceal from the best of parents the real state of my heart, I know not, except that, from habit, deceit was to me more readily at hand than candour; certainly my attachment to this fair and virtuous creature could not cause me to blush, except at my own unworthiness of so much excellence.  My father looked disappointed; I know not why; but I afterwards learned that the subject of our union had, since my brother’s death, been discussed and agreed to between him and Mr Somerville; and that our marriage was only to be deferred until I should have attained the rank of captain, provided always that the parties were agreed.

“I thought,” said my father, “that you were rather smitten in that quarter?”

“Me smitten, Sir?” said I, with a look of astonishment.  “I have, it is true, a very high respect for Miss Somerville; but as for being in love with her, I trust no little attentions on my part have been so construed.  I have paid her no more attention than I may have done to any pretty girl I meet with.” (This was, indeed, true, too true.)

“Well, well,” said my father, “it is a mistake on my part.”

And here the conversation on that subject was dropped.