I first years of school were torture to him, and our rough games a severe ordeal; yet he never shirked a dangerous duty, and the boy did not breathe who would have dared to call him coward! remember one day, when he was staying with me in the holidays, we were fired with a desire to be tattooed, and engaged an old boatman to perform the operation. It was a very simple device which we chose an anchor and our own initials; but I can see his face now as he stood watching me, waiting for his turn to come-white to the lips, and quivering with nervousness! We begged him to give it up, but no! he would not hear of such a thing, and held out his arm without flinching, though one could see that it was all he could do to keep from fainting more than once. He overcame his weakness to a certain extent as he grew older, but it was there all the same, and he must have had many a conflict with himself which none of his comrades suspected." "I, for one, never did. Most men have an attack of nervousness now and then, especially before an engagement; but I imagined Lawton above all weakWe used to call upon him to cheer us up." ness. "And he would do it, no doubt, and then go away and fight his own battle by himself. That was always his way. Well, I am glad to see how highly his townsfolk appreciate him. It warms one's heart to find that he is not forgotten. Dear fellow! dear fellow!" realize his danger, he had fallen, a limp and helpless mass, upon the floor. The major uttered an exclamation of dismay, and with the assistance of the verger lifted the stranger and seated him upon a chair which was close at hand. He was an old man, and presented a pitiable spectacle when contrasted with the two officers with their air of dignity and well-being. His clothes, though clean and whole, bore marks of the extreme of poverty; his frame was shrunken until it was scarcely larger than that of a child, and his hair hung in masses round a skeleton face, in which the outline of the skull and the jaw were painfully apparent. So deathlike indeed did he appear at the moment, that the major was seriously alarmed, and would have hurried off in search of a doctor had not the verger reassured him. "He will be better in a moment, sir. He is just a bit shaken with the fall. You don't look very hale at the best of times, do you, Johnson? The gentleman is afraid that he has hurt you, but you will be none the worse after a little rest, will you now?" The old man stared dumbly in the major's face, but he waved his hand as if entreating to be left in peace, and the verger fell back a few paces and continued his explanations in a lowered voice. "No need to be frightened by his appearance, sir. He looks very little different at the best of times. He isn't long for this world, and that's the truth of it. He lodges with some friends of mine close at hand, and I see a good deal of him, for he spends half his time in the cathedral. He's a kind of fancy for that monument you've been looking at-sit and stare at it by the hour together, he will, without ever stirring, as if he were a stone image himself! It's a pretty thing too-I like to look at it myself, and I've heard visitors say that they have never seen anything to beat the expression on the angel's face. Perhaps it comforts him, poor old chap-thinking of what's coming. He's been a sailor in his day, and Reluctant as he had been to approach the spot consecrated to his friend's memory, Major Maurice now seemed even less inclined to leave it. He lingered behind his companion, and cast so many backward glances over his shoulder, that he failed to notice a small, bent figure which was approaching along the aisle, and had hardly taken twenty steps forward when he came into violent collision with the stranger. The major was a heavy man, and the new-comer slight and feeble in his gait; so it happened that his stick slipped from his grasp, and before the onlookers had time to has saved a little money-enough to keep him going as long as he will last." The major listened, his brow puckered with anxiety. "I shall never forgive myself if my carelessness has any bad results. He looks shockingly ill! I must speak to him again before I go. There is something I should like to say." He stepped forward and laid his hand upon the old man's arm. It pained him to note how he shrank at the touch, as if he were little in the habit of expecting kindness from his fellow-creatures. "I am distressed at the results of my own carelessness," he said gently. "Your good friend, the verger here, will look after you for the present; but I shall be staying in the city for some days, and if you are any the worse for your fall, I trust that you will let me know, and allow me the satisfaction of serving you in any way that is in my power. A message to Major Maurice at the Crown Inn will be sure to find me, and I will come in person to answer it." He paused, but though the sunken eyes were gazing fixedly at him, there was no glimmer of comprehension upon the face to show that the meaning of his words had penetrated to the brain; and though he stood waiting for several moments, there was no attempt at an answer. The major straightened himself with a sigh, and turned back to the verger. "Well," he said, "I must just leave him in your hands. Send for me if he is ill or in need of assistance. In the mean time--" "He is well cared for, sir. They are decent people where he lives, and will do what is right by him. I will give them your message, and if anything goes wrong you shall hear about it." "Come then, Huntly! We can do no more. Let us get away from here." Major Maurice dropped a coin into the verger's hand and hurried towards the doorway. The incidents of the past few minutes had shaken his nerves. He heaved a sigh of relief upon regaining the fresh outer air. PART II. It was three days later that the major received the summons which he had been dreading. He was seated in his private sitting-room, enjoying the first fire of the season, when there came a tap at the door, and a stranger entered, in whom he instantly recognized the verger of the cathedral. He brought a message that the old man had taken to bed on the evening of the accident, and had failed so rapidly during the intervening days that the doctor had pronounced it impossible that he could live through another night. He had expressed a wish to see Major Maurice, and the messenger had come in haste, as no time was to be wasted if he were to be found alive. Unspeakably distressed, the major followed his guide through a labyrinth of narrow streets, until they reached their destination, and ascending a narrow wooden staircase, found themselves in the attic bedroom in which the dying man lay. The breath of winter was in the air, nevertheless the window was thrown wide open, and the patient had only one thin sheet by way of covering as he lay propped up against his pillows. It did not need a practised eye to see that his hours of life were numbered; but his eyes were fixed upon the doorway, and an expression of unspeakable relief passed over his face as the major entered. All the taciturnity of a few days before had disappeared, and he was now so anxious to speak that he would not pause to listen to the other's earnest words of regret. "No, no! It is not your doing. I was doomed before then,-or if you have hastened the end by a few weeks, what then? You have done me the greatest service that was in any man's power to pay. But now I have something to say to you. Send them all away and shut the door. I must speak to you by yourself for a few minutes." Then, as the verger and the woman of the house left the room, "The doctor tells me that I shall not live until the morning," he continued feebly. "He asked me if I would like to see a clergyman, and I told him no. I have confessed my sins to God, and I want no man to act as go-between. But there is a weight upon me,-a heavy weight, -and there is only one man in the world to whom I can unburden my soul. That man is yourself!" The major drew back with a start of intensest astonishment, and for several moments the two men gazed steadily at each other, while the tick of the little clock sounded clearly through the silence. The eyes of the dying man were full of wistful questioning, but in the face above him there was no shadow of recognition-nothing but blank bewilderment and surprise. "No," he sighed wearily, "you don't remember me I never imagined that you would-but you knew me once. It is a long time ago You remember the summer of 1790, when you were serving under Lord Cornwallis in India, -when you set off on the march to Oussour and the " "Yes, yes, of course! And you were with us then? You were one of my men? My poor fellow, why did you not tell me before? And you recognized me the other day, even before hearing my name! Well, I am less altered than you, no doubt-no praise to me! And what have you been doing with yourself ever since? You have had your pension, of course?" The man waved his hand feebly. "I am coming to that. I will tell you all by and by. Sit down beside me. It is getting difficult to speak, and I have so much to say- Yes, I was with the army, but I was not of your menOussour was garrisoned, and we moved nearer the pass. Kutnagheri lay before us. It was a small fort compared with others which we had taken, but the position made it difficult to approach. The road was exposed, and there was a want of water- A-a company was sent forward." "Yes! yes!" The major's eyes were alight with eagerness, and he leant over the bed, as if fearful of losing one of the faintly-uttered words. "To find another road! I remember perfectly,of course I remember. Well?" "A company of men and three officers, -two lieutenants and the captain. He was your friend; you were always together. That is why I speak to you now- It was a difficult errand. The country was wild, and once off the beaten track there was constant danger of a surprise; but there was a hill-path, and after a long search we—” "We!" The major started violently, and the blood rushed to his face. "You mean to say that you were there,-that you were one of Lawton's men! And you escaped! We thought that every man of you had been cut to pieces. You escaped! You saw the last of him and can tell me how it came about! You were surprised, of course; but how did it happen that you--" He stopped short as a sudden terrible suspicion flashed across his brain. Had there been a traitor in the midst of that gallant company?-a man so base that for the sake of his own safety he had been willing to betray not only his own companions, but the most beloved and popular leader in the English army? As the thought passed through his mind he drew himself back from the bed, so that the clothing might not touch him where he sat, and his face hardened into the likeness of an iron mask. The change of expression was too eloquent to be misunderstood, and the sick man winced before it as in sudden pain. "Don't judge me yet!" he pleaded, "not yet-until you have heard my story. I will tell you all We followed the path until it ended, and hid ourselves among the rocks and trees. The fort was half a mile distant, and at night scouts were sent out to reconnoitre. The information which they brought back was insufficient; time pressed, and the captain was impatient. Then-I had done good service before, and they trusted me I went out, with two others! We separated, and crept along, hiding behind the trees and bushes - nearer and nearer-until suddenly-in a moment as it were I found myself surrounded. It was dark, and the wind was highI had heard no movement. They carried me back to the fort, and then-for they knew what my presence meantthey would have me tell the number and position of our men. I refused! Oh yes, do not scorn me too soon-I refused! If it had been a choice between that and death I would have stood while every man among them fired upon me, and have been thankful -thankful! I had been a soldier all my life, and had faced many dangers. It was not death that I feared, but," -the weak voice shrilled with agony,"they tortured me! Do you know what that means, you who sit here calm and comfortable, and despise me for my weakness? The touch of the burning iron, the wrench of limb from limb? Oh, my God! a man is not himself-he is mad! how can he be answerable? I told all-all! I lay there bound hand and foot, waiting until they should prove the truth of my words. If I lied, I should pay the price; if not, my life should be my reward. You know the rest. For me, I was sent up among the mountains and kept a prisoner, but by and by I had greater liberty. I could be of use to them in many ways; they sent for me to doctor them in their sicknesses, and I was free to go about from place to place. But when the years had passed on, it began to burn within me the longing to come home, to tread on English ground, to see English faces, and hear the dear familiar words again before I died. It grew and grew until I could fight against it no longer, and I worked my way across the country, trading with the natives as I went, until I reached the big towns. Then I saw my face for the first time for nearly twenty years, and it was as the face of a stranger. I had been saving all this time, and had enough money laid by to bring me home, and to keep I came me from actual starvation. back to the old country, but the hunger was still in my heart-I could not ease it. I drifted to this city, and have remained here ever since. You would never guess what is the attraction which keeps me here! It is that monument in the cathedral! I have spent hours of every day gazing at it. It breaks my heart, and yet-it comforts me! I look at the angel's face as she bends over the dying man, and I read the words which they have carved upon the marble, and I know that they are— true!" "True, indeed!" replied the major bitterly. "If that thought comforts you, lay it to your soul that you have killed one of nature's noblest gentlemen. A man who spent his life in the service of others, whose memory is sweet in the minds of his friends until this day-ay, and whose influence is strong within their hearts, though it is twenty years since those black brutes shed his blood!" hands The grey hue of death was spreading over the old man's features, but, as he listened to the major's words, his face lit up with a smile of ecstatic happiness. He clasped his together, and his lips moved as if in prayer. "Thank God!" he cried"thank God for those words! Then he did not lose everything- It was a sad ending, but he did not lose everything God knows all, and he will remember he will remember-" His voice died away in inarticulate murmurings, and for a few moments the major believed that consciousness had left him; but presently the closed eyes opened, and he spoke again in a tone of great sweetness. "It is coming very near. In a few minutes I shall be with God, and he will judge me; but you were his friendI think I could die in peace, if you could say that you forgive me!" The major hesitated. Horror of that sin which a soldier is taught to count the worst of all was strong upon him even at this solemn moment. He looked into the wistful face, and for a moment he wavered; then the remembrance of that awful scene at Kutnagheri swept over him once more, he hundred thought of a homes left desolate, of a gallant life cut short in its prime, and sprang to his feet with a gesture of aversion. "No, never! I cannot say it. It would be a lie. How could any honest man overlook such a sin?-Judas!" The sufferer drew in his breath with painful inhalation. "No, no-not that!" he cried, and his voice was as a wail of agony. "Not Judas-only Peter. Peter whose enemy overcame him in an hour of weakness; who denied his Master, and then gave his life for the cause; who played the coward's part, and then went out into the darkness and wept bitterly-my God, bitterly!" No pen could describe the intonation of that last word. A broken heart breathed through it with irresistible eloquence, and at the sound the eyes which had been bright with anger melted into sudden tears. It was only a moment as we measure time; but in that moment the major had time to remember many things-moments of weakness when the right had not conquered; secret sins unsuspected by the world, perhaps also unrepented; his own need of pardon and the divine forgiveness, which of old had transformed a vacillating disciple into the rock of the Church. A great wave of tenderness and pity filled his heart; he lifted the wasted hand and held it in a warm, close pressure. “Forgive me, my poor fellow, for my hardness of heart. Who am I that I should condemn you? If it will comfort you in the slightest degree to receive my pardon, you have it-full and unstinted. And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!" The sunken eyes were raised to his; there was in them a shining depth of love, such as he had never seen upon a human face. The next moment they closed, and the last flickering breaths of life came from between the parted lips. The major tightened his grasp of the hand which he held between his own, so that while consciousness remained, the traveller into the great unknown might feel the presence of a comrade by his side; and when the peace of death was upon the still face, he laid it gently down, stretched at full length upon the sheet. The next moment he fell back against the bedpost, and though the chilly wind still blew into the chamber, the sweat stood in beads upon his forehead. The sleeve of the night-shirt had fallen back from the dead man's arm, and upon the emaciated wrist was engraven an old tattoo-mark-an anchor and the initials "F. L." From The Fortnightly Review. ON THINGS PERSIAN. Until the accession of his present Majesty Mozaffer-ed-din, King of Kings and Asylum of the Universe, to give him his full title, the death of a shal of Persia was invariably the commencement of a "Terror," if not of a struggle for the possession of the Peacock Throne and the Kaianian crown; the highroads would be impassable for travellers or goods, on account of swarms of marauders, who hurried to avail themselves of the traditional license of the time; agricultural operations would be at a standstill, for what villager would dare to leave the security of his mud fortress? In the town the merchants and shopkeepers would quit the bazaars, and in all probability their shops and offices would be plundered; the streets, deserted by day, were in the possession of the lutis (or thieves by profession) at night; no provisions of flesh or grain would be brought in from the outlying country, as the roads were patrolled by gangs of robbers, thus causing a sudden series of local famines, while the bakers would cease to ply their trade, save under compulsion. Now was the time for murder and rapine, the man with a blood feud slew his enemy if he got the chance, for a crime of this sort might be committed with impunity in the traditional "shillük" or popular struggle which always took place at the death of a king of Persia. The Persians themselves have long foretold with confidence a desperate fight for the crown between the rivals Prince Sultan Massûd Mirza, the Zil-es |