MAJOR O’SHAUGHNESSY.

“This is Major O’Shaughnessy’s quarters, sir,” said a sergeant, as he stopped short at the door of a small, low house in the midst of an olive plantation; an Irish wolf-dog—the well-known companion of the major—lay stretched across the entrance, watching with eager and bloodshot eyes the process of cutting up a bullock, which two soldiers in undress jackets were performing within a few yards of the spot.

Stepping cautiously across the savage-looking sentinel, I entered the little hall, and finding no one near, passed into a small room, the door of which lay half open.

A very palpable odor of cigars and brandy proclaimed, even without his presence, that this was O’Shaughnessy’s sitting-room; so I sat myself down upon an old-fashioned sofa to wait patiently for his return, which I heard would be immediately after the evening parade. Sparks had become knocked up during our ride, so that for the last three leagues I was alone, and like most men in such circumstances, pressed on only the harder. Completely worn out for want of rest, I had scarcely placed myself on the sofa when I fell sound asleep. When I awoke, all was dark around me, save the faint flickerings of the wood embers on the hearth, and for some moments I could not remember where I was; but by degrees recollection came, and as I thought over my position and its possible consequences, I was again nearly dropping to sleep, when the door suddenly opened, and a heavy step sounded on the floor.

I lay still and spoke not, as a large figure in a cloak approached the fire-place, and stooping down endeavored to light a candle at the fast expiring fire.

I had little difficulty in detecting the major even by the half-light; a muttered execration upon the candle, given with an energy that only an Irishman ever bestows upon slight matters, soon satisfied me on this head.

“May the Devil fly away with the commissary and the chandler to the forces! Ah, you’ve lit at last!”

With these words he stood up, and his eyes falling on me at the moment, he sprang a yard or two backwards, exclaiming as he did so, “The blessed Virgin be near us, what’s this?” a most energetic crossing of himself accompanying his words. My pale and haggard face, thus suddenly presented, having suggested to the worthy major the impression of a supernatural visitor, a hearty burst of laughter, which I could not resist, was my only answer; and the next moment O’Shaughnessy was wrenching my hand in a grasp like a steel vice.

“Upon my conscience, I thought it was your ghost; and if you kept quiet a little longer, I was going to promise you Christian burial, and as many Masses for your soul as my uncle the bishop could say between this and Easter. How are you, my boy? A little thin, and something paler, I think, than when you left us.”

Having assured him that fatigue and hunger were in a great measure the cause of my sickly looks, the major proceeded to place before me the dÉbris of his day’s dinner, with a sufficiency of bottles to satisfy a mess-table, keeping up as he went a running fire of conversation.

“I’m as glad as if the Lord took the senior major, to see you here this night. With the blessing of Providence we’ll shoot Trevyllian in the morning, and any more of the heavies that like it. You are an ill-treated man, that’s what it is, and Dan O’Shaughnessy says it. Help yourself, my boy; crusty old port in that bottle as ever you touched your lips to. Power’s getting all right; it was contract powder, warranted not to kill. Bad luck to the commissaries once more! With such ammunition Sir Arthur does right to trust most to the bayonet. And how is Monsoon, the old rogue?”

“Gloriously, living in the midst of wine and olives.”

“No fear of him, the old sinner; but he is a fine fellow, after all. Charley, you are eating nothing, boy.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m far more anxious to talk with you at this moment than aught else.”

“So you shall: the night’s young. Meanwhile, I had better not delay matters. You want to have Trevyllian out,—is not that so?”

“Of course; you are aware how it happened?”

“I know everything. Go on with your supper, and don’t mind me; I’ll be back in twenty minutes or less.”

Without waiting for any reply, he threw his cloak around him, and strode out of the room. Once more I was alone; but already my frame of mind was altered,—the cheering tone of my reckless, gallant countryman had raised my spirits, and I felt animated by his very manner.

An hour elapsed before the major returned; and when he did come, his appearance and gestures bespoke anger and disappointment. He threw himself hurriedly into a seat, and for some minutes never spoke.

“The world’s beautifully changed, anyhow, since I began it, O’Malley,—when you thanked a man civilly that asked you to fight him! The Devil take the cowards, say I.”

“What has happened? Tell me, I beseech you?”

“He won’t fight,” said the major, blurting out the words as if they would choke him.

“He’ll not fight! And why?”

The major was silent. He seemed confused and embarrassed. He turned from the fire to the table, from the table to the fire, poured out a glass of wine, drank it hastily off, and springing from his chair, paced the room with long, impatient strides.

“My dear O’Shaughnessy, explain, I beg of you. Does he refuse to meet me for any reason—”

“He does,” said the major, turning on me a look of deep feeling as he spoke; “and he does it to ruin you, my boy. But as sure as my name is Dan, he’ll fail this time. He was sitting with his friend Beaufort when I reached his quarters, and received me with all the ceremonious politeness he well knows how to assume. I told him in a few words the object of my visit; upon which Trevyllian, standing up, referred me to his friend for a reply, and left the room. I thought that all was right, and sat down to discuss, as I believed, preliminaries, when the cool puppy, with his back to the fire, carelessly lisped out, ‘It can’t be, Major; your friend is too late.’

“‘Too late? too late?’ said I.

“‘Yes, precisely so; not up to time. The affair should have come off some weeks since. We won’t meet him now.’

“‘This is really your answer?’

“‘This is really my answer; and not only so, but the decision of our mess.’

“What I said after this he may remember; devil take me if I can. But I have a vague recollection of saying something that the aforesaid mess will never petition the Horse Guards to put on their regimental colors; and here I am—”

With these words the major gulped down a full goblet of wine, and once more resumed his walk through the room. I shall not attempt to record the feelings which agitated me during the major’s recital. In one rapid glance I saw the aim of my vindictive enemy. My honor, not my life, was the object he sought for; and ten thousand times more than ever did I pant for the opportunity to confront him in a deadly combat.

“Charley,” said O’Shaughnessy, at length, placing his hand upon my shoulder, “you must get to bed now. Nothing more can be done to-night in any way. Be assured of one thing, my boy,—I’ll not desert you; and if that assurance can give you a sound sleep, you’ll not need a lullaby.”