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question will be, ‘Who is he?’”

      “Well, what is the difficulty there? I am Graf M’Caskey, in Bavaria; Count of Serra-major, in Sicily; Commander of the Order of St. Peter and St. Paul, and a Knight of Malta. I mention these, for I have the ‘brevets’ with me.”

      “Very true,” said Maitland; “but you are also the same Lieutenant Miles M’Caskey, who served in the 2d West Indian Regiment, and who left a few unsettled matters between him and the Government there, when he quitted Barbadoes.”

      “And which they won’t rake up, I promise you, if they don’t want to hang an ex-governor,” said he, laughing. “But none of us, Mr. Maitland, will stand such investigations as these. There’s a statute of limitations for morals as well as for small debts.”

      Maitland winced under the insolent look of the other, and in a tone somewhat shaken, continued, “At all events it will not suit me to open these inquiries. The only piece of good fortune in the whole is that there was none here who knew you.”

      “I am not so very sure of that, though,” said the Major, with a quiet laugh.

      “How so? what do you mean?”

      “Why; that there is an old fellow whom I remember to have met on the West Indian Station; he was a lieutenant, I think, on board the ‘Dwarf,’ and he looked as if he were puzzled about me.”

      “Gambier Graham?”

      “That’s the man; he followed me about all night, till some one carried him off to play cribbage; but he ‘d leave his game every now and then to come and stare at me, till I gave him a look that said, ‘If you do that again, we ‘ll have a talk over it in the morning.’”

      “To prevent which you must leave this to-night, sir,” said Maitland. “I am not in the habit of carrying followers about with me to the country-houses where I visit.”

      A very prolonged whistle was M’Caskey’s first reply to this speech, and then he said: “They told me you were one of the cleverest fellows in Europe, but I don’t believe a word of it; for if you were, you would never try to play the game of bully with a man of my stamp. Bigger men than Mr. Norman Maitland have tried that, and did n’t come so well out of it.”

      An insolent toss of the head, as he threw away his cigar, was all Maitland’s answer. At last he said, “I suppose, sir, you cannot wish to drive me to say that I do not know you?”

      “It would be awkward, certainly; for then I ‘d be obliged to declare that I do know you.”

      Instantly Maitland seized the other’s arm; but M’Caskey, though not by any means so strong a man, flung off the grasp, and started back, saying, “Hands off, or I’ll put a bullet through you. We’ve both of us lived long enough amongst foreigners to know that these are liberties that cost blood.”

      “This is very silly and very unprofitable,” said Maitland, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “There ought not, there cannot be, any quarrel between you and me. Though it is no fault of yours that this blunder has occurred, the mistake has its unpleasant side, and may lead to some embarrassment, the more as this old sea-captain is sure to remember you if you meet again. There ‘s only one thing for it, therefore, – get away as fast as you can. I ‘ll supply the pretext, and show Sir Arthur in confidence how the whole affair occurred.”

      M’Caskey shook his head dubiously. “This is not to my liking, sir; it smacks of a very ignominious mode of retreat. I am to leave myself to be discussed by a number of perhaps not over-favorable critics, and defended by one who even shrinks from saying he knows me. No, no; I can’t do this.”

      “But remember you are not the person to whom these people meant to offer their hospitality.”

      “I am Major Miles M’Caskey,” said he, drawing himself up to the full height of his five feet four inches; “and there is no mistake whatever in any consideration that is shown to the man who owns that name.”

      “Yes, but why are you here, – how have you come?”

      “I came by the host’s invitation, and I look to you to explain how the blunder occurred, and to recognize me afterwards. That is what I expect, and what I insist on.”

      “And if your old friend the Commodore, whose memory for ugly anecdotes seems inexhaustible, comes out with any unpleasant reminiscences of West Indian life – ”

      “Leave that to me, Mr. Norman Maitland. I ‘ll take care to see my friend, as you call him, and I ‘ll offer you a trifling wager he ‘ll not be a whit more anxious to claim my acquaintance than you are.”

      “You appear to have no small reliance on your powers of intimidation, Major,” said Maitland, with a sneering smile.

      “They have never failed me, for I have always backed them with a very steady hand and a correct eye, both of which are much at your service.”

      Maitland lifted his hat and bowed an acknowledgment.

      “I think we are losing our time, each of us, Major M’Caskey. There need be no question of etiquette here. You are, if I understand the matter aright, under my orders. Well, sir, these orders are, that you now start for Castle Durrow, and be prepared by Tuesday next to make me a full report of your proceedings, and produce for me, if necessary, the men you have engaged.”

      The change effected in the Major’s manner at these words was magical; he touched his hat in salute, and listened with all show of respect.

      “It is my intention, if satisfied with your report, to recommend you for the command of the legion, with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel,” continued Maitland; “and I have already written about those advances you mentioned.”

      “I ‘ll take care that you are satisfied with me,” said M’Caskey, respectfully; “I’ll start within half an hour.”

      “This is all as it should be. I hope it is our first and last misunderstanding;” and he held out his hand frankly, which the other grasped and shook cordially. “How are you off for ready cash? Treat me as a comrade, and say freely.”

      “Not over flush, but I suppose I can rub on,” said the Major, with some confusion.

      “I have some thirty sovereigns here,” said Maitland; “take them, and we’ll settle all when we meet.”

      M’Caskey put the purse in his pocket, and, with the uneasy consciousness of a man ashamed of what he was doing, muttered out a few unmeaning words of thanks, and said, “Good-bye!”

      “These condottieri rascals have been troublesome fellows in all ages,” said Maitland, as he smoked away alone; “and I suspect they are especially unsuited to our present-day life and its habits. I must rid myself of the Major.”

      CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATIONS

      By the time Maitland had despatched his man Fenton to meet Count Cafifarelli, and prevent his coming to Lyle Abbey, where his presence would be sure to occasion much embarrassment, the company had retired to their rooms, and all was quiet.

      Though Mark was curious to know why and how Maitland had disappeared with his foreign friend, he had grown tired thinking over it, and fallen sound asleep. Nor did he hear Maitland as he entered the room and drew nigh his bedside.

      “What’s wrong, – what has happened?” cried Mark, as he started up suddenly on his bed.

      “Nothing very serious, but still something worth waking you for; but are you sure you are awake?”

      “Yes, yes, perfectly. What is it all about? Who are in it?”

      “We are all in it, for the matter of that,” said Maitland, with a quiet laugh. “Try and listen to me attentively for a couple of minutes. The man your father brought back with him from Coleraine, believing him to be my friend Caffarelli, was not Cafifarelli at all!”

      “What! And he pretended to be?”

      “No such thing: hear me out. Your father spoke to him in French; and finding out – I don’t exactly know how – that he and I

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