“Damn his neck!” said Lord Strathern, striding up and down the room.  “Better a neck cracked than a reputation.  Things have come to a pretty pass.  You singing love-songs at him, he squeezing and kissing your hand—­perhaps going further.  In these cases, women never tell the whole truth!  When he would escape by a leap from your window, you try to keep him by strength of arm.  You get on finely, madam!  Three months in the army have done wonders for you.  Three months more will accomplish you so thoroughly, that you will be fit for no other society through life.  I will tell you what, Mabel, I will not lose a moment, but bundle you up, and pack you off to your aunt, while you are yet worth sending!”

Between shame and indignation at this unjust assault from such a quarter, poor Lady Mabel burst into tears, and rushed off to her room, where she locked herself up, resolving never again to leave it until she commenced her journey homeward.  It was not long before her hasty father repented of his coarse and violent attack on her, in a case in which the heaviest fault was his own.  He came rapping at her door, and by dint of apologies, remonstrance, and commands, brought her out, and induced her to spend the evening in his company.  And a very uncomfortable evening it was to both of them.

Two days after this, L’Isle rode into Elvas, and brought orders with him that set the town astir.  Such a breaking up of all the comfortable and luxurious arrangements of messes and quarters had not been lately seen.  For Elvas was the Capua of the brigade, which had to lighten itself of many an incumbrance, including much of what Shortridge termed its heavy baggage, in order to bring itself to a condition to march.  There was many a woeful parting, too, and scandal says that the ladies of Elvas might have laid the dust with their tears.  But we will leave these stories to Colonel Bradshawe.

All was confusion in the household at headquarters.  Lord Strathern had to bestir himself, to get both his brigade and himself ready to march by one route, and Lady Mabel had to prepare for her journey by another.  It was now that Moodie’s worth shone manifestly forth.  The old coach and harness were overhauled and put in order.  He secured, we believe, by impressment, another pair of mules and two postillions.  Every leaf of the hortus siccus was carefully packed, and put into the hands of an arriero, bound for Lisbon, and Jenny Aiken and William, the footman, were pulled and shoved about in a way that convinced them that it was time to be moving; yet he found plenty of time to spur up my lord’s own servants, and push forward their preparations.  Busy as Lord Strathern was, he failed not to remark Moodie’s prompt, methodical, and energetic labors.  He pronounced him the prince of quartermasters, and a heavy loss to the army.  “The old fellow would evacuate a fortress, or conduct a retreat with the precision of a parade, and not leave even a dropped