earth, the captain had a slow but pleasant walk
home that night.

CHAPTER V. THE CAPTAIN'S VISITOR.

It had now come to be the day before Mr.
Tillotson's marriage. That day had glided on
to the evening and to the night. It was about
nine o'clock.

On this night the captain's thoughts were
taken up by an operation in which he delighted.
His moderator lamp, in whose mechanical
arrangements he felt pride, had gone astray. Not,
indeed, from his handling, for his touch was as
gentle and tender as a woman's, but from a
new housemaid who had over-wound the
machinery. The captain had wondered at the
disorder; with his specs on had pryed into its
very bowels, but could make nothing of it. At
last, not without a prospect of enjoyment, he
had fixed this night for a thorough overhauling
of the lamp, was determined to make a regular
"job" of it, and had got out his tool-box.
There was nothing on his mind; for, punctually
at the hour fixed, the tailors had sent home the
"shoeperfine" blue frock-coat, and it was lying
sprawling over an arm-chair, with its sleeves
stretching out like a coat in drink.

The table had been cleared, the lamp was laid
out for operation. The captain's tool-box,
his files, little hammer, small saw, and the
like, were all disposed "handy;" and the
captain himself, in a faded flowered dressing-
gown, which clung in very close to his knees,
was walking about nearly ready to begin, very
like a medical professor about to illustrate
dissection on a "subject." It was likely to be a
delightful engineering night. He, indeed, loved
such operations dearly. His grandest work, to
which he used to point with a justifiable pride,
was a sort of "guardhervine" (so he styled it),
which, after more than a week's hard labour, he
had constructed out of a plank of Honduras
wood given him by Captain Shortall, formerly
of the 50th or "dirty half hundred," a corps
to which the captain himself had belonged. It
was a wonderful production, though a little rude,
and something after the pattern that Crusoe
might have turned out. But the lamp indeed was,
as he admitted with some misgivings, of a higher
school, "more in the whitesmith's line."

He was limping round the room, was stooping
over the lamp with a chisel, and peering
down into its windpipe, when the housemaid
entered. Did she feel any compunction when
she saw the captain ominously remedying the
mischief her hands had caused? The soft eyes
were lifted with that wistful peering look.

"Well, Mary," he said, "what's the best
news with you?"

Mary, habitually dirty, being indeed of the
class known as "thorough," murmured
something.

"Speak up, Mary," said the captain;
"anything wanting? You see this Bolshero lamp
has run astray. I'll bring him to his trumps,
never fear."

Mary answered him, still murmuring (it must
have been guilt that was oppressing her), that
some one was below.

"What is it?" said the captain, a little testily;
but mark, as he told the landlady after, it was
for her good, and that he did it "a purpose to
shake her up." "Speak out, girl, and take those
pebbles out of your mouth. A gentleman
below—who is it? Mr. Tillotson?"

"No, no, sir; a gentleman in a cab, with
luggage on the top, and he wants to see you
particularly."

The captain looked wistfully at his lamp, then
down at his dressing-gown. "My goodness!"
he said, "who can it be? And I not fit to
see a Christian. Go down and ask his name."

"Here's his card," she said, holding it out
with the tip of two very dirty fingers.

The captain held it close to the light and
peered at it through his "specs." "Mr. Ross,"
he said,—th regiment! Why, goodness! what
can he want?"

Already there was a heavy violent step on the
stair, and a sharp quick knock at the door.

"Can I come in?" said a rough voice. "I
want to see you for a moment;" and the
captain, peering over his lamp, his file in his hand,
saw entering a young man with flushed or
sunburnt cheeks, and rather glittering eyes.

"Don't wait," said Ross sharply to the girl.
"Go down; I want to speak to this gentleman;"
and, turning his eyes on her, he waited
steadily till she had gone. "Now," he said
to the captain, "I know of you, and have seen
you, though I dare say you don't recollect me
—Ross—do you?"

The captain, still in wonder, could only murmur,
"We all thought you were away abroad."

"Ah, you did! I know you did," said the
other, with a burst. "They thought it was all
snug and secure. They were not up to me, sir;
and there is not a man living that is, if I lay
my mind to it. I have come back, landed
only this morning, and I've come to make
those who would interfere with me behind
my back pay for what they have done. I
will, if I die for it! No man ever trifled with
me yet that I didn't punish him; though I
may ruin myself. It's not ruining myself, if I
do what I want."

The captain was gazing at him with soft eyes,
with senile stupidity, as it seemed to Ross.
But he little knew our captain, who was only
unworldly and foolish in his own concerns,
but whose utter unselfishness in the concerns
of others made him knowing and as skilled
in human affairs as a trained man of the world.
He was thinking what was best to be done.

"Do you understand me?" said Ross, flinging
himself into a chair. "Do you follow me
at all—eh?"

"Yes," said the captain, putting by his tools;
"I think I have heard Mr. Tilney speak of you.
But, you know, I don't see much of what's
going on. You must be tired after your journey.
Have a glass of wine or something,"
added the captain, getting out his keys, going
towards the "guardhervine."