"Well, sir," said the elderly, florid officer, with a.s.sumed sternness, as he fixed the lad with his keen grey eyes, "what have you to say for yourself? How are you come here and interrupt the most brilliant player in my band?"

There was a roar of laughter from all present, and Richard was conscious of a sharp face belonging to a bandsman peering between the palm-leaves.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the lad, frankly, "but I stopped to hear the music; the air was very familiar, and I had my instrument in my pocket, and--well, sir, that's all."

"Oh!" said the old officer, scanning him sharply; "then you are not a street musician?"

"I, sir? Oh, no," cried Richard--"that is, I don't know; I suppose I shall be."

"Humph! Well, you played that piece from the _Trovatore_ capitally.

The gentlemen here would like to hear something else--er--I should, too.

Know any other airs?"

"A few, sir."

"Mind playing?"

"Not to so appreciative an audience," came to the lad's lips; but he only said, "Oh, no, sir."

"Go on, then. Here, Johnson, give the musician a gla.s.s of wine. By the way, Lacey, you were going to tell us a story about something."

The big, good-looking officer smiled, shook his head, and wrinkled up his forehead in a perplexed way as he looked up at the ceiling.

"The flute-player blew it all out of his head, sir," said a rather fierce-looking man who took the foot of the table, and there was another laugh.

At that moment the band at the end of the great mess-room recommenced playing, but there were cries of "No! no!" headed by the officer at the head.

But the band heard nothing but their own instruments, and Richard stood looking on, feeling faint and more weary than ever, and paying no heed to the gla.s.s of champagne the servant had placed upon a side-table near him, for he had been busy fitting together his flute.

"Go and tell them to leave off," said the old officer, and one of the servants hurried to the corner and checked the players, who could now be seen whispering together.

"Now, Mr Wandering Minstrel," said the officer at the foot, "we are all attention."

d.i.c.k's brow knit a little. "Mr Wandering Minstrel," in such a tone, jarred upon him, and a peculiar trembling came over him as he felt that he had forgotten everything. The table, with its plate and gla.s.s, looked misty, too, and there was a singing in his ears as his fingers played nervously with the keys of the instrument.

"Now, sir, if you please," said the old officer, and Richard gave a start, raised the flute to his lips, and blew a few feeble notes as he vainly tried to collect himself--conscious, too, now that the bandsmen were craning forward to listen.

Then he dimly saw that bent heads were being turned at the table, and that he was being eyed curiously, till, in a fit of desperation, he pressed the flute to his lips and blew again, if anything, more feebly; but the sound of the notes seemed to send a thrill through his nerves, and the next came deep, rich-toned, and pure, as he ran through a prelude, from which he imperceptibly glided into a sweet old Irish melody. He played it with such earnestness and feeling that his hearers were electrified, and the applause came again loudly, amidst which he dashed off into a series of variations, bright, sad, martial, and wailing, till, as he played, the room swam round him, the terrible scene in the river rose, followed by that with his cousin, and then he seemed to be hearing the thundering of the water once more in his ears--

He was on the floor, gazing up in the face of a stranger, who was upon his knee, while other faces kept on appearing, as it were, out of a mist.

"Faintness, I should say," said the officer who knelt by him. "Give me that gla.s.s of wine. Here, my lad, try and drink some of this."

As if in a dream, the lad involuntarily swallowed the wine, and then, in a sharp, s.n.a.t.c.hy way, cried--

"What is it? What is the matter? What are you doing?"

"Have you been ill?" said the gentleman by him.

"Ill? No!" said Richard, huskily. "I don't understand."

"What have you eaten to-day?"

"Nothing--yes: a bit of bread."

"And yesterday?"

Richard was silent for a few moments, trying to collect himself. Then he recalled the past. "I don't know," he said.

"Well, Doctor?"

"Faint from excitement and want of food, sir," said the doctor. "Shall I prescribe here?"

"Do I ever fight against your wishes?" said the old officer.

"Then come and sit down over here, my lad," said the doctor, quietly; and he helped his wondering patient to a table close to where the bandsmen were seated.

"Here, one of you," he said, sharply, "fetch a plate of that soup, and some bread;" and, as the dinner went on, the doctor stayed and saw that the patient took the medicine, which he followed with half a gla.s.s more wine.

"You will not feel it now," he said, kindly. "Here, Wilkins, keep an eye upon him, will you, while I go back to the table? He is not to leave until I have seen him again."

"Very good, sir," said a pale little man in spectacles, who was evidently the leader of the band; and when the doctor went to his place, leaving his patient seated at the side-table, feeling as if he were in a dream, Wilkins carried out his orders with military precision; for, every time a piece was played, he conducted in regular musical fashion, flourishing a little ebony baton, and turning over the leaves of the book before him on the stand, but never once glancing at the notes, his eyes, glimmering through his gla.s.ses, being fixed upon the lad, to whom the scene appeared more dreamlike than ever, and his head grew confused, with familiar airs buzzing in one ear and the loud conversation in the other.

And this went on till the last piece upon the band programme of the evening had been finished amid thin clouds of smoke. Then the men began to place their instruments in their cases and green baize bags, after the different bra.s.s crooks had been drained and blown through, while a boy gathered together the music; and Richard started out of his dream, feeling better, and knowing that he must go.

At that moment he became conscious that the bandmaster was standing stiffly close by, still keeping an eye upon him, and removing his military cap, revealing a shiny billiard-ball-like head, which he began to polish softly with a silk handkerchief.

Richard, in his nervous state, felt worried and annoyed by this persistent gaze; but he bore it till he could bear it no longer, for the man stared as if he were some street beggar he had to watch for fear of his meddling with the plate.

"I beg your pardon--" began the lad; but he was interrupted by steps behind him, and the doctor cried--

"Well, sir--better?"

Richard started up and faced round, to find that the keen eyes of the colonel were also fixed upon him, looking as if their owner was waiting to hear what he said.

"Yes, sir; I'm better now," said the lad, hurriedly. "I am sorry to have been so much trouble."

"Who are you?--what's your name?" said the colonel, sharply.

"Smithson--d.i.c.k Smithson, sir," said the lad, feeling the blood come hotly into his cheeks as he spoke; and his face grew hotter, for he could see at a glance that he was not believed.

"What brought you here?" continued the colonel.

"I came to enlist, sir," said d.i.c.k, quickly.

"And the sergeant would not have you because you were too boyish, eh?"

"Yes, sir."