While the merry fellows dipped their punch from the great bowl steaming in the centre of the table, and laughed uproariously at the story one was telling, I beheld in sharp contrast this jocund scene and the sad one I had so recently looked upon.  And, coming to observe particulars, I suddenly noticed that the cause of all this laughter, himself smiling in appreciation of his own story as he told it, his face the picture of well-bred light-hearted mirth, was Captain Falconer.  And he was the cause of the other scene, the sorrow that abode in the house I loved!  The thought turned me to fire.  I uttered a curse, and strode into the tavern; rudely flung open the parlour door, and stood in the presence of the laughing officers.

Falconer himself was the first to recognise me, though all had turned to see who made so violent an entrance.

“Why, Russell,” cried he, showing not a whit of ill-humour at the interruption to his story, “this is a pleasure, by George!  I haven’t seen you in weeks.  Find a place, and dive into the punch.  Ensign Russell, gentlemen—­if any of you haven’t the honour already—­and my very good friend, too!”

“Ensign Russell,” I assented, “but not your friend, Captain Falconer.  I desire no friends of your breed; and I came in here for the purpose of telling you so, damn you!”

Falconer’s companions were amazed, of course; and some of them looked resentful and outraged, on his behalf.  But the captain himself, with very little show of astonishment, continued his friendly smile to me.

“Well acted, Russell,” said he, in a tone so pleasant I had to tighten my grip upon my resolution.  “On my conscience, anybody who didn’t know us would never see your joke.”

“Nor would anybody who did know us,” I retorted.  “If an affront before all this company, purposely offered, be a joke, then laugh at this one.  But a man of spirit would take it otherwise.”

“Sure the fellow means to insult you, Jack,” said one of the officers to Falconer.

“Thank you,” said I to the officer.

“Why, Bert,” said the captain, quickly, “you must be under some delusion.  Have you been drinking too much?”

“Not a drop,” I replied.  “I needn’t be drunk, to know a scoundrel.  Come, sir, will you soon take offence?  How far must I go?”

“By all that’s holy, Jack,” cried one of his friends, “if you don’t knock him down, I shall!”

“Ay, he ought to have his throat slit!” called out another.

“Nay, nay!” said Falconer, stopping with a gesture a general rising from the table.  “There is some mistake here.  I will talk with the gentleman alone.  After you, sir.”  And, having approached me, he waited with great civility, for me to precede him out of the door.  I accepted promptly, being in no mood to waste time in a contest of politeness.

“Now, lad, what in the name of heaven—­” he began, in the most gentle, indulgent manner, as we stood alone in the passage.