“Jerrold, I can stand this no longer.  I ought to shoot you in your tracks, I believe.  You’ve brought ruin and misery to the home of my warmest friend, and dishonor to the whole service, and you talk of two or three days’ stoppage from going to town.  If I can’t bring you to your senses, by God! the colonel shall.”  And he wheeled and left the room.

For a moment Jerrold stood stunned and silent.  It was useless to attempt reply.  The captain was far down the walk when he sprang to the door to call him again.  Then, hurrying back to the bedroom, he hastily dressed, muttering angrily and anxiously to himself as he did so.  He was thinking deeply, too, and every movement betrayed nervousness and trouble.  Returning to the front door, he gazed out upon the parade, then took his forage-cap and walked rapidly down towards the adjutant’s office.  The orderly bugler was tilted up in a chair, leaning half asleep against the whitewashed front, but his was a weasel nap, for he sprang up and saluted as the young officer approached.

“Where did Major Sloat go, orderly?” was the hurried question.

“Over towards the stables, sir.  Him and Captain Chester was here together, and they’re just gone.”

“Run over to the quarters of B Company and tell Merrick I want him right away.  Tell him to come to my quarters.”  And thither Mr. Jerrold returned, seated himself at his desk, wrote several lines of a note, tore it into fragments, began again, wrote another which seemed not entirely satisfactory, and was in the midst of a third when there came a quick step and a knock at the door.  Opening the shutters, he glanced out of the window.  A gust of wind sent some of the papers whirling and flying, and the bedroom door banged shut, but not before some few half-sheets of paper had fluttered out upon the parade, where other little flurries of the morning breeze sent them sailing over towards the colonel’s quarters.  Anxious only for the coming of Merrick and no one else, Mr. Jerrold no sooner saw who was at the front door than he closed the shutters, called, “Come in!” and a short, squat, wiry little man, dressed in the fatigue-uniform of the infantry, stood at the door-way to the hall.

“Come in here, Merrick,” said the lieutenant, and Merrick came.

“How much is it you owe me now?—­thirty-odd dollars, I think?”

“I believe it is, lieutenant,” answered the man, with shifting eyes and general uneasiness of mien.

“You are not ready to pay it, I suppose; and you got it from me when we left Fort Raines, to help you out of that scrape there.”

The soldier looked down and made no answer.

“Merrick, I want a note taken to town at once.  I want you to take it and get it to its address before eight o’clock.  I want you to say no word to a soul.  Here’s ten dollars.  Hire old Murphy’s horse across the river and go.  If you are put in the guard-house when you get back, don’t say a word; if you are tried by garrison court for crossing the bridge or absence without leave, plead guilty, make no defence, and I’ll pay you double your fine and let you off the thirty dollars.  But if you fail me, or tell a soul of your errand, I’ll write to—­you know who, at Raines.  Do you understand, and agree?”