you to Scotland? and where were you going just now ?"

"To see you, to be sure. I mean to dine with you to-day, and you will not get quit of me in a hurry; for I have a multitude of questions to ask, and I suppose I shall have not a few to answer."

"You may depend upon that; but desire your servant to go on with the horses, we shall proceed at our leisure."

Sefton gave the necessary directions, and arm-in-arm the friends proceeded to the Barracks.

The presence of the servants during dinner prevented any interesting conversation between the friends; but as soon as they and their paraphernalia were withdrawn, Sefton began: " So you have left the **th regiment? What a wild set we were! I have often wondered, Willoughby, how you contrived to keep out of our frolics, and yet to be such a favourite with us all. Major Fanshaw was your stanch friend."

"Poor Fanshaw!" said Willoughby.

"What!" exclaimed Sefton," is he dead? I never heard of it.”

"Yes, Sefton," replied Willoughby, "he died in my arms."

"Poor Fanshaw !" repeated Sefton," and Wilmot, too, is dead ?"

"Yes, he too is gone to his account!" replied Willoughby, while a sudden shudder came over him.

"I am not surprised to hear of his death," cried Sefton; "I always said he would go off in a fit some day or other. Between ourselves, Willoughby, he was much to blame for encouraging the dissipation that went on among the juniors-he certainly ought to have checked it; but, indeed, he could not have done so without making a great change in his own conduct. Was there not," continued Sefton, "some strange story about his death?"

"There was," answered Willoughby, "something so shocking in the manner of his death, that I feel great dislike to recall the circumstances of it; but, if

you wish it,

I will vanquish my repugnance, and briefly relate the story. A short time after you left the regiment, Colonel Wilmot became dreadfully irritable, and subject to frequent bursts of passion. He sat late, more, apparently, for the purpose of drowning thought, than from any pleasure he had in intemperance. It was well known," continued Willoughby," that Wilmot had induced a lovely young creature to leave her friends, and place herself under his protection. It was rumoured, that unable to bear her degradation, she had bitterly reproached him and fled, and that no trace of her had ever been discovered. Certain it is that she was no longer with him. About three weeks after her disappearance, one day during dinner Wilmot seemed to be in a very moody humour; almost savage with every one around him. In particular, he appeared to take pleasure in contradicting everything I said, and evidently wished to draw me into a dispute. Seeing this, I was on my guard;

but in the course of conversation I happened to mention the word conscience.'

"Conscience!" exclaimed Wilmot with a sneer, "a bugbear to frighten women and children."

"And men also," replied I coolly.

"What do you mean by the allusion ? ̈ said Wilmot, fiercely.

"I mean simply,” replied I," that I believe I have a conscience, and so has every man; and however desirous we may be to stifle its voice, it will at times speak loudly."

"Ha, ha, ha! why, then, I suppose you say your prayers, read your Bible, and believe in a future state of rewards and punishments?" said Wilmot, affecting great gaiety.

"You are perfectly right in all these conjectures," I replied calmly.

“Ha, ha, ha! do you hear him, Fanshaw?" exclaimed Wilmot; " but you and I know better."

"Colonel Wilmot," replied Fanshaw,

"this conversation is disagreeable to meit has been carried too far. Whatever may be our private sentiments, let us not deprive others of their belief."

Nay, never wince, man,” replied Wilmot, "but boldly declare your sentiments, as I do. Since, however, you seem to have some doubts on the subject, I promise you solemnly, that if I die before you, I will return to tell you how it fares with me in the other world, provided there is one; and may the devil take me if I don't keep my word!"

66

Scarcely were these words uttered, when he started suddenly-his eyes seemed to follow some object invisible to all but him: he sprung distractedly from his seat, and fell back a lifeless corpse! You can have no idea, my dear Sefton, of the impression made on us all by this dreadful event. Even the most unthinking were appalled. Fanshaw's agitation was not to be concealed. You are aware, perhaps, that his opinions on these subjects were very unsettled. He fancied