no woman could resist, though I’m sure it would have given me no trouble to resist it, whatever they may mean by that, for I saw that that same smile was the falsest thing of all the false things about him.  All the time he was smiling, you would have thought he was looking at himself in a glass.  He was said to have gathered a power of money in India, somehow or other.  But I don’t know, only I don’t think he would have been the favourite he was with my lady if he hadn’t.  And reports were about, too, of the ways and means by which he had made the money; some said by robbing the poor heathen creatures; and some said it was only that his brother officers didn’t approve of his speculating as he did in horses and other things.  I don’t know whether officers are so particular.  At all events, this was a fact, for it was one of his own servants that told me, not thinking any harm or any shame of it.  He had quarrelled with a young ensign in the regiment.  On which side the wrong was, I don’t know.  But he first thrashed him most unmercifully, and then called him out, as they say.  And when the poor fellow appeared, he could scarcely see out of his eyes, and certainly couldn’t take anything like an aim.  And he shot him dead,—­did Captain Crowfoot.’-Think of hearing that about one’s own father, sir!  But I never said a word, for I hadn’t a word to say.—­’Think of that, Samuel,’ said my aunt, ’else you won’t believe what I am going to tell you.  And you won’t even then, I dare say.  But I must tell you, nevertheless and notwithstanding.—­Well, I felt as if the earth was sinking away from under the feet of me, and I stood and stared at them.  And they came on, never seeing me, and actually went close past me and never saw me; at least, if he saw me he took no notice, for I don’t suppose that the angel with the flaming sword would have put him out.  But for her, I know she didn’t see me, for her face was down, burning and smiling at once.’—­I’m an old man now, sir, and I never saw my mother; but I can’t tell you the story without feeling as if my heart would break for the poor young lady.—­’I went back to my room,’ said my aunt, ’with my empty jug in my hand, and I sat down as if I had had a stroke, and I never moved till it was pitch dark and my fire out.  It was a marvel to me afterwards that nobody came near me, for everybody was calling after me at that time.  And it was days before I caught a glimpse of Miss Wallis again, at least to speak to her.  At last, one night she came to my room; and without a. moment of parley, I said to her, “Oh, my dear! what was that wretch saying to you?”—­“What wretch?” says she, quite sharp like.  “Why, Captain Crowfoot,” says I, “to be sure.”—­“What have you to say against Captain Crowfoot?” says she, quite scornful like.  So I tumbled out all I had against him in one breath.  She turned awful pale, and she shook from head to foot, but she was able for all that to say, “Indian servants are known liars, Mrs Prendergast,” says she, “and