Such, at least, seemed the spirit in which two army surgeons now discussed the events of the day, as they walked briskly for exercise along one of the corridors of the Convent.

"We shall have a gloomy report to send in to-morrow, Parkes," said the elder. "Not one of these late operation cases will recover. Hopeton is sinking fast; Malcolm's wound has put on a treacherous appearance; that compound fracture shows signs of gangrene; and there's Conway, we all thought so well of last night, going rapidly, as though from some internal hemorrhage."

"Poor fellow! it's rather hard to die just when he has arrived at so much to live for. You know that he is to have a peerage."

"So he told me himself. He said laughingly to me, 'Becknell, my boy, be careful, you are cutting up no common sort of fellow; it's all lordly flesh and blood here!' We were afraid the news might over-excite him, but he took it as easily as possible, and only said, 'How happy it will make my poor mother;' and, after a moment, 'If I only get back to tell it to her!'"

"A civilian below," said an hospital sergeant, "wishes to see Mr.

Conway."

"Can't be,--say so," was the curt reply, as the doctor tore, without reading, the piece of paper on which a name was written.

"The lawyer, I have no doubt," said the other; "as if the poor fellow could care to hear of title-deeds and rent-rolls now. He 'd rather have twenty drops of morphine than know that his estate covered half a county."

The sergeant waited for a second or two to see if the doctor should reconsider his reply, and then respectfully retired. The stranger, during the short interval of absence, had denuded himself of great-coat and snow-shoes, and was briskly chafing his hands before the fire.

"Well, Sergeant, may I see him?" asked he, eagerly.

"No. The doctors won't permit it."

"You did n't tell them who I was, then, that's the reason. You did n't say I was the confidential agent of his family, charged with a most important communication?"

"If I didn't, it was, perhaps, because I didn't know it," said the man, laughing.

"Well, then, go back at once, and say that I've come out special,--that I must see him,--that the ten minutes I 'll stay will save years and years of law and chancery,--and that"--here he dropped his voice--"there's a hundred pounds here for the same minutes."

"You'd better keep that secret to yourself, my good friend," interposed the sergeant, stiffly.

"Well, so I will, if you recommend it," said the other, submissively; "but surely, a ten-pound note would do you no harm yourself, Sergeant."

An insolent laugh was the only answer the other vouchsafed, as he lighted his cigar and sat down before the fire.

"They won't let me see him for the mischief it might do him," resumed the other, "and little they know that what I have to tell him might be the saving of his life."

"How so?"

"Just that I 've news for him here that would make a man a'most get out of his coffin,--news that would do more to cure him than all the doctors in Europe. There's paper in that bag there that only wants his name to them' to be worth thousands and thousands of pounds, and if he dies without signing them there's nothing but ruin to come of it; and when I said a ten-pound note awhile ago to you, it was a hundred gold sovereigns I meant, counted into the hollow of your fist, just as you sat there. See now, show me your hand."

As if in a sort of Jocular pantomime, the man held out his hand, and the other, taking a strong leather purse from his pocket, proceeded to untie the string, fastened with many a cunning device. At length it was opened, and, emptying out a quantity of its contents into one hand, he began to deposit the pieces, one by one, in the other's palm. "One, two, three, four," went he on, leisurely, till the last sovereign dropped from his fingers with the words "one hundred!"

Secret and safe as the bargain seemed, a pair of keen eyes peering through the half-snowed-up window had watched the whole negotiation, following the sergeant's fingers as they closed upon the gold and deposited it within his pocket.

"Wait here, and I'll see what can be done by and by," said the sergeant, as he moved away.

Scarcely was the stranger left alone than the door opened, and a man entered, shaking the snow from his heavy boots and his long capote.

"So, my worthy friend," cried he, in a rich, soft voice, "you stole a march on me,--moved off without beat of drum, and took up a position before I was stirring!"

"Ah, my reverend friend, _you_ here!" said the other, in evident confusion. "I never so much as suspected you were coming in this direction."

Paul Classon and Terry Driscoll stared long and significantly at each other. Of all those silences, which are more eloquent than words, none can equal that interval in which two consummate knaves exchange glances of recognition, so complete an appreciation is there of each other's gifts, such an honest, unaffected, frank interchange of admiration.

"You are a clever fellow, Driscoll, you are!" said Paul, admiringly.

"No, no. The Lord help me, I'm a poor crayture," said Terry, shaking his head despondingly.

"Don't believe it, man,--don't believe it," said Paul, clapping him on the shoulder; "you have great natural gifts. Your face alone is worth a thousand a year, and you have a shuffling, shambling way of coming into a room that's better than an account at Coutts's. Joe Norris used to say that a slight palsy he had in one hand was worth twelve hundred a year to him at billiards alone."

"What a droll man you are, Mr. Classon!" said Terry, wiping his eyes as he laughed. And again they looked at each other long and curiously.

"Driscoll," said Paul, after a considerable pause, "on which side do you hold your brief?"

"My brief! God knows it's little I know about brief and parchments,"

sighed Terry, heavily.

"Come, come, man, what's the use of fencing? I see your hand; I know every trump in it."

Driscoll shook his head, and muttered something about the "faver that destroyed him entirely."

"Ah!" sighed Classon, "I cannot well picture to my mind what you might have been anterior to that calamity, but what remains is still remarkable,--very remarkable. And now I ask again, on which side are you engaged?"

"Dear me,--dear me!" groaned out Terry; "it's a terrible world we live in!"

"Truly and well observed, Driscoll. Life is nothing but a long and harassing journey, with accidents at every stage, and mischances at every halt; meanwhile, for whom do you act?"

The door at the end of the long gallery was slightly and noiselessly opened at this instant, and a signal with a hand caught Driscoll's attention. Rapid and stealthy as was the motion, Classon turned hastily round and detected it.

"Sit still, Driscoll," said he, smiling, "and let us talk this matter over like men of sense and business. It's clear enough, my worthy friend, that neither you nor I are rich men."

Driscoll sighed an assent.

"That, on the contrary, we are poor, struggling, hard-toiling fellows, mortgaging the good talents Fortune has blessed us with to men who have been born to inferior gifts but better opportunities."

Another sigh from Terry.

"You and I, as I have observed, have been deputed out here to play a certain game. Let us be, therefore, not opponents, but partners. One side only can win, let us both be at that side."

Again Terry sighed, but more faintly than before.

"Besides," said Classon, rising and turning his back to the fire, while he stuck his hands in his pockets, "I'm an excellent colleague, and, unless the world wrongs me, a most inveterate enemy."

"Will he live, do you think?" said Terry, with a gesture of his thumb to indicate him of whom he spoke.

"No; impossible," said Classon, confidently; "he stands in the report fatally wounded, and I have it confidentially that there's not a chance for him."

"And his claim dies with him?"

"That's by no means so sure; at least, we'd be all the safer if we had his papers, Master Driscoll."