“What is all this!  Post upon post!  There must be some thing in the wind!” said my lord, as he broke the seal, which was Sir Rowland Hill’s.

“Our pleasant winter here is over,” said Bradshawe, with a sigh.  “We will be moving shortly, and then hot marches and cold meals, sour wine and bad quarters, or no quarters at all, will be the order of the day.  I trust we shall move through a more plentiful country than we did last year.”

“It has not quite come to that yet,” said Lord Strathern.  “Here is an order for me to meet Sir Rowland at Alcantara, at ten, the day after to-morrow.  I am to take you and Conway with me, for he has special instructions for you both.  And here is an order for that modest fellow L’Isle to attend and report the state of the Andalusian reserve.  I expect Conway to dinner.  You had better stay and meet him.”

In due time Major Conway appeared, and dinner was announced.  Mrs. Shortridge had gone home, so that only two guests sat down with Lady Mabel and her father.  No man made himself more agreeable in his own house and at his own table than Lord Strathern usually did, for hospitality was with him an article of religion.  But to-day my lord was not in a religious frame of mind.  He was moody and silent, or growled at his servants, and gave short answers to his guests; so that Major Conway, after sundry attempts to engage him in conversation, gave it up, and joined Bradshawe in his efforts to entertain Lady Mabel.  At length the cloth was removed, the servants withdrew, and the gentlemen sat over their wine; yet Lady Mabel, not trained to a nice observance of little conventionalities, lingered there, watching her father’s moody brow.

“So L’Isle has got back,” said Major Conway.

“The impudent coxcomb!” exclaimed Lord Strathern.

Conway started.  But Lady Mabel started as if a snake had bitten her.  She said nothing, however; perhaps she could not had she tried.  But Conway exclaimed:  “My lord, perhaps I did not hear you rightly.”

“You did Major Conway.  I say that L’Isle is an impudent coxcomb.  The most presumptuous fellow I know.  I will find or make an occasion to give him a lesson he much needs.”

“Why, my lord, what has L’Isle done?” asked the Major.

“Done!” said Lord Strathern angrily.  “He has said a great deal more than I will tolerate.”  And, having broached the subject, he told the story of L’Isle’s interview with himself, and his remarks to Bradshawe, pronouncing his whole conduct presumptuous and impertinent.  Losing his temper more and more, he exclaimed:  “Sir Rowland’s absurd partiality has spoiled the fellow utterly!”

“Sir Rowland must not bear all the blame,” said Bradshawe, interposing; then added slyly:  “No wonder L’Isle’s head is turned, considering who all have helped to spoil him.”

“So they have; and you have spoiled him more than any one else,” exclaimed Lord Strathern turning suddenly on Lady Mabel.  “I hear of nobody but Colonel L’Isle.  This Colonel of yours has been growing more and more intolerable—­