of those; and, as I turned from the lovely girl who had received me with a marked. courtesy, to the cold air and repelling hauteur of the dark-browed Captain, the blood rushed throbbing to my forehead; and, as I walked to my place at the table, I eagerly sought his eye to return him a look of defiance and disdain, proud and contemptuous as his even. Captain Hammersly, however, never took further notice of me, but continued to recount, for the amusement of those about, several excellent stories of his military career, which I confess were heard with every test of delight by all save me. One thing galled me particularly—and how easy is it, when you have begun by disliking a person, to supply food for your antipathy—all his allusions to his military life were coupled with half-hinted and ill-concealed sneers at civilians of every kind, as though every man not a soldier were absolutely unfit for common intercourse with the world—still more, for any favourable reception in ladies’ society.
The young ladies of the family were a well-chosen auditory, for their admiration of the army extended from the Life Guards to the Veteran Battalion, the Sappers and Miners included; and, as Miss Dashwood was the daughter of a soldier, she, of course, coincided in many, if not all his opinions. I turned towards my neighbour, a Clare gentleman, and tried to engage him in conversation, but he was breathlessly attending to the Captain. On my left sat Matthew Blake, whose eyes were firmly riveted upon the same person, and heard his marvels with an interest scarcely inferior to that of his sisters. Annoyed, and in ill-temper, I ate my breakfast in silence, and resolved that the first moment I could obtain a hearing from Mr. Blake I should open my negotiation and take my leaye at once of “Gurt-na-Morra.”
We all assembled in a large room, called, by courtesy, the library, when breakfast was over; and then it was that Mr. Blake, taking me aside, whispered, “Charley, it’s right I should inform you that Sir George Dashwood there is the Commander of the Forces; and is come down here at this moment to” What for, or how it should concern me, I was not to learn, for at that critical instant my informant’s attention was called off by Captain Hammersly asking if the hounds were to hunt that day.
“My friend Charley, here, is the best authority upon that matter,” said Mr, Blake, turning towards me.
“They are to try the Priest’s meadows,” said I, with an air of some importance; “but, if your guests desire a day's sport, I’ll send word over to Brackely to bring the dogs over here, and we are sure to find a fox in your cover.”
“Oh, then, by all means,” said the Captain, turning towards Mr. Blake, and addressing himself to him—“by all means; and Miss Dashwood, I’m sure, would like to see the hounds thrown of.”
Whatever chagrin the first part of his speech caused me, the latter set my heart a-throbbing, and I hastened from the room to despatch a messenger to the huntsman to come over to Gurt-na-Morra, and also another to O’Malley Castle, to bring my best horse and my siding equipments, as quickly as possible.
“Matthew, who is this Captain?” said I, as young Blake met me in the hall.
