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the new, whom he despised, close shaven, with red fez and glazed boots; water-carriers; Osmanli infantry, solemn, brutal, and sensual, jostled by rollicking British tars and merry little French Zouaves; and for a background, the city of the Sultans, with all its casements, domes, and minarets glittering in the unclouded sunshine.

Two light-cavalry subs, who had ridden in the death-ride at Balaclava, and bore some cuts and slashes won therein; three others of the Light Division, and myself, agreed to travel homeward together; and pleasant days we had of it while skirting the mountainous isles of Greece, Byron's

'Isles of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sung,'

and the tints of which seemed all brown or gray, as we saw them through the vapour exhaled in summer from the Ægean Sea, with their little white villages shadowed by trees, their rocks like sea-walls, crowned here and there by the columns, solitary and desolate, of

some temple devoted to the gods of other days-'a country rich in historic reminiscence, but as poor as Sahara in everything else.'

And so on by Malta and old Gib; and exactly fourteen days after leaving the former we were cleaving the muddy bosom of Father Thames. That night saw me in London, with the dull roar of its streets dinning in my ears; and after the rapid travelling I fell asleep, as addled as a fly could be in a drum.

CHAPTER LVIII.

HOME.

NEXT day the comfort and splendour of the fashionable club-house, the tall mirrors, the gilded cornices, the soft carpets, the massive

VOL. XI.

furniture, and the liveried waiters gliding noiselessly about, all impressed me with a high sense of the intense snugness of England and of home, after my airy tent, with its embankment of earth for shelter, its smoky funnel of messtins, and the tiny trench cut round it to carry away the rain-water. Then I was discussing a breakfast which, after my Crimean experience, seemed a feast fit for Lucullus or Apicius, and listening with something of a smile to the rather loud conversation of some members of the Club-wiry old Peninsulars, Waterloo and India men, who were certain 'the service was going to the devil,' and who drew somewhat disparaging comparisons between the way matters had been conducted by our generals and those of the war under Sir John Moore, Lynedoch, Hill, and the Iron Duke;' and to me it seemed that after forty years of peace we that the old fellows were right, and had learned nothing new in the art of campaigning.

for you, sir,' said a waiter, present'Captain Hardinge, a gentleman ing me with a card on a silver salver; and soon I was with Sir Madoc Lloyd, who in top-boots

and corded breeches as usual-his ruddy sunburnt face, his white hair and sparkling dark eyes, in his cheery breezy way the same as ever

with his hat and whip in hand, welcomed me home so warmly, that for a moment he drew the eyes of all upon us.

He had breakfasted two hours before-country time-and had a canter round the Park. He was in town on parliamentary business, but was starting that afternoon for Craigaderyn. I should accompany him, of course, he added, in his hearty impetuous way. Then ere I could speak

'God bless my soul!' he exclaimed. 'Poor Harry! till I had

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'Can't say that either. Perhaps she hated a "swell" with an affected "yaw - haw" impediment in his speech. Girls are so odd; but mine are dear girls for all that. I'll telegraph to Owen Gwyllim to have the carriage awaiting us at Chester; and we shall leave town before luncheon-time, if you have no other plans or engagements.'

'I have neither; but-but, Sir Madoc, why so soon?' I asked, as certain passages in my later visits to Craigaderyn gave me a twinge of compunction. 'Now that I think of it, I had an idea of taking a run down to Lewes in Sussex,' said I.

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I coloured a little, and said, 'I have a friend there, among the Russian prisoners.'

'By Jove, I think you've had enough of those fellows! Nonsense, Harry! We shall start without delay. Why waste time and money in London?' said Sir Madoc, who never liked his plans or wishes thwarted. 'I have just to give a look at a brace of hunters at Tattersall's for Vaughan, and then I am with you. Down there, with our fine mountain breezes, our sixmonths' Welsh mutton, and sevenyears' cliquot, we'll make a man of you again. I can't get you an arm, Harry; but, by Jove, it will go hard with us if we don't get you two belonging to some one else!'

I laughed at this idea; and so that evening saw me again far from London, and being swept as fast as the express could speed along the North-Western line towards Chester.

I had quite a load of Russian trophies-such were then in great request for Sir Madoc: sabres, muskets, and bayonets; glazed helmets of the 26th and Vladimir Regiments, a Zouave trumpet (with a banner attached), trod flat as a pancake under the feet of the stormers as they poured into the Malakoff. There, too, were several rusty fragments of exploded shells, hand-grenades, and the last cannonshot fired from the Mamelon Vert.

For Winifred and Dora I had mother-of-pearl trunks of rare essences and perfumes; slender gilt vials of attar of roses; daintilyembroidered Turkish slippers, with turned-up toes, and bracelets of rose-pearls from Stamboul; Maltese jewelry, lace, veils, and as many pretty things as might have stocked a little shop in the Palais Royal or the Burlington Arcade.

The month was June, and my

spirits became more and more buoyant, as in the open carriage we bowled along between the green mountains and the waving woodlands.

Now the mowers, scythe in hand, were bending over the fragrant and bearded grass; the ploughmen were turning up the fallow soil; the squirrels were feasting in the blossom; the sheep were being driven to fold; and the crow was flying aloft, ere he sought his nest in the rooky wood.' It was a thorough English June evening: the air pure, the sunshine bright, and casting the shadows of the mountains far across the vales and fresh green meadows; the blackbird, thrush, and linnet sang on every tree, and a glow of happiness came over me; for all around the land looked so peaceful and so lovely, the gray smoke curling up from copse and dingle to mark where stood those 'free fair homes of England,' of which Mrs. Hemans sang so sweetly.

Sir Madoc was discoursing on the cultivation of turnips and mangold wurzels, and on the mode of extirpating annual darnel-grass, coltsfoot, wild charlock, and other mysterious plants to me unknown; and I heard him as one in a dream, when we entered the long lime

avenue.

How pleasant and picturesque looked the old house of the Tudor times at the end of that long leafy vista, with all its tinted oriels, its gilded vanes, and quaint stone finials! The woodbine, clematis, and ivy, hops and honeysuckle, all blended in luxuriant masses, aspiring to peep in at the upper windows. Craigaderyn, so redolent of fruit and flowers, of fresh sweet air, of bright green leaves, of health and every bracing element hearty old house, where for generations the yule log had blazed, and the holly-branch and the mistletoe hung from the old oak roof, when

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the snow lay deep on Carneydd Llewellyn; where the boar's head was served up in state at Christmas, and at Michaelmas the goose; where so many brides had come home happy, and so many old folks, full of years and honour, gone to the vault of the old church among the hills; where lay all the line of Lloyd save the luckless Sir Jorwerth Du; and where—

But here my somewhat discursive reverie was interrupted by the carriage being pulled sharply up at the perron before the entrance; and Owen Gwyllim, with his wrinkled face beaming, and his white head glistening in the sunshine, hastened down to open the door, arrange the steps, and shake the only hand the Russians had left me.

'Where are the young ladies?' asked Sir Madoc, impatiently glancing up at all the windows.

Gone for a ride so far as Llandudno with Miss Vaughan.' 'Alone?'

'No, Sir Madoc, attended by Spurrit the groom. Spurrit the groom. They were gone before your telegram arrived, but are to be back before the first bell rings for dinner.'

And now, after a little attention to my toilet, I was ushered into the drawing-room, every object in which was so familiar to me; and seating myself in the corner of an oriel, I gave way to a long train of deep thought; for I was left quite alone just then, as Sir Madoc found letters of importance awaiting him; and now, induced by the heat of evening, the stillness broken only by the tinkle of a sheep-bell and the hum of the bees at the open window, and by the length and rapidity of my journey, I actually dozed quietly off to sleep.

CHAPTER LIX.

A DREAM WHICH WAS NOT ALL A

DREAM.'

BRIEF though my nap of 'forty winks,' I had within it a little dream, induced, no doubt, by my return to Wales, and by my surroundings, as it was of Winifred Lloyd, of past tenderness, and our old kind, flirting, cousinly intercourse, before others came between us; for Winifred had ever been as a sister to me, and dearer perhaps. Now I thought she was hanging over me with much of sorrowful yearning in her soft face, and saying,

'Papa will not be here for an hour, perhaps, and for that hour I may have him all to myself, to watch. Poor Harry, so bruised, so battered, and so ill-used by those odious wretches!'

Her lips were parted; her breath came in short gasps.

Was it imagination or reality that a kiss or a tress of her hair touched my cheek so lightly? There was certainly a tear, too!

I started and awoke fully, to see her I dreamt of standing at the side of my chair, with one hand resting on it, while her soft eyes regarded me sadly, earnestly, and there is no use evading it-lovingly. She wore her blue riding-habit, her skirt gathered in the hand which held her switch and buff gauntlets; and though her fine hair was beautifully dressed under her riding-hat, one tress was loose.

'Dear Winifred, my appearance does not shock you, I hope?' said I, clasping her hand tenderly, and perhaps with some of that energy peculiar to those who have but

one.

"Thank Heaven, it is no worse! she replied; but, poor Harry Hardinge, an arm is a serious loss.'

'Yet I might have come home, like Le Diable Boiteux, on two

wooden stumps, as Dora once half predicted; but even as it is, my round-dancing is at an end now. By the way, I have a sorrowful message for you.'

'Then I don't want to hear it. But from whom?'

'One who can return no more, but one who loved you well-Phil Caradoc.'

A shade of irritation crossed her face for a moment; and then with something of sorrow she asked,

'And this message?-poor fellow, he fell at the Redan!

'His last thoughts and words were of you, Winny-amid the anguish of a mortal wound,' said I; and then I told her the brief story of his death, and of his interment in the fifth parallel. Her eyes were very full of tears; yet none fell, and somehow my little narrative failed to excite her quite so much as I expected.

'Did you not love him?'

'No,' she replied curtly, and gathering up the skirt of her habit more tightly, as if to leave me.

'Did you never do so?'

'Why those questions ?-never, save as a friend-poor dear Mr. Caradoc! But let us change the subject,' she added, her short lip quivering and her half-drooped eyelids too.

I was silent for a minute. I knew that, with a knowledge of the secret sentiment which Winifred treasured in her heart for myself, I was wrong in pursuing thus the unwelcome theme of Caradoc's rejection; moreover, there are few men, if any, who would not have felt immensely flattered by the preferences of a girl so bright and beautiful, so soft and artless, as Miss Lloyd; and I found myself rapidly yielding to the whole charm of the situation.

'How odd that you should have returned on my birthday!' said she, playing with her jewelled switch,

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