of him; and this was the little story they told
the captain.

They were never weary of repeating their
thanks, at least the youngest, the captain saying
that "it was really, now, as gallant a thing as
ever he heard of. Just fancy, my dears," he
went on, "if you had Tom there, with his old
leg in the way. And I am so glad, Tillotson, it
was you, now. 'Pon my word and credit I am."

But Mr. Tillotson was already looking absently
about, even wearily. His heart was far away,
perhaps. "Don't mention it," he said; "don't
say any more. Indeed, it is nothing. You have
made far too much of it. And now," he hesitated,
"would you excuse me. I am afraid I must go
now. I am very glad you recovered your bag."

At this moment their servant, a tall, gaunt,
rudely made, masculine woman, came up, and said
that all their "things were in." The captain
saw the eyes of the young girl wistfully following
the retreating figure of Mr. Tillotson. Something
struck him, and he limped hastily after him.
"My dear fellow," he said, "I beg your pardon.
Now, where are you going? To the
chambers?"

"Yes," said Mr. Tillotson, smiling sadly, "to
the old den."

"You won't be settled down there till
tomorrow," said the other; "and I tell you what,
now, come and take your bit with us. As
good a duck, Tillotson, as ever was killed, and a
little haddock. Do, my dear fellow. It'll be a
charity to help an old fellow to amuse those two
nice girls—-"

"Some other day, some other time," said Mr.
Tillotson, wringing his hand. "You are too good
to me. But another time."

"Ah! this is always the way. You are such a
stand-off man. Well, the next day. Give us
one day—the day after tomorrow."

"I will, then, my dear captain," said he; and
at last got away. He got into his cab, and in a
few moments it became for him a cell as gloomy
as the carriage had been. The darkness was now
setting in, and with the departure of bright
day yet gloomier thoughts, which had kept
themselves in reserve, began to rush on him.
Then the cab stopped at some old-fashioned
chambers, in an old-fashioned run-to-seed square.
The old chambers were handsome enough,
having been once a nobleman's house, and had
a "grand stair" that was magnificent. But
they were not let, and were even going out
of fashion—as unfashionable quiet chambers.
The air of that great hall and stair seemed charged
with ghosts of spectral noble men and noble
women, who had attended routs and parties,
and crowded up in George the Second's day.

A porter, who sat in a black-hooded chair,
put on an affectation of decent joy at his return,
and went before him up the white stone staircase.
That was an ascent of time, and he had to shade
the light from the grand draughts which floated
up and down. It was a lonely passage; they
did not meet a soul. Thus what had been the
noble lady's boudoir was reached, where a fire
was indeed burning, but smoking, and having
a cold air; and then the porter went down to
wait upon other gentlemen, and, closing the
door, left Mr. Tillotson to the company of cold
shadows and ghosts for the night.

CHAPTER III. MORE ABOUT "THE CAPTAIN."

CAPTAIN DIAMOND had genteel lodgings in
Wimpole Street, where he had lived many years,
and where he was regarded with a mixture of
respect and affection by all who were concerned
in the establishment. By the landlady who took
his monthly rent; by the maid-servant who
brought up his breakfast—he dined always at
his club- whom he remembered sumptuously at
the pecuniary festivals; and by the occasional
lodger whom he met on the stairs, and who was
coming down from cheaper regions, very much
up-stairs. The inquirer below was told that "the
captain" was in, or would be in by-and-by; it
was for " the captain" that breakfast went up,
and for " the captain" that the servant ran out
in her cap round the corner. For by this name
he was affectionately known, though, in truth,
he was only a lieutenant, but a lieutenant in the
enjoyment of full pay, having quitted the army
forty years before. That transaction was, in
truth, something of "a job," and would not
bear a moment's inquiry now. But at that
time, the captain's sweet temper and plain
goodness had made for him many fast friends
in his own profession; among others, Sir Thomas
Cameron, then Colonel Cameron, who afterwards
got to the Horse Guards, and got Tom Diamond
into the "Royal Veteran Battalion," with full
pay, without a second's hesitation. He was
himself very merry on the score of this corps,
whom he called "the Fogies."

Often and often he met old brother-officers
of this type, who greeted him with delight and
affection unusual among men, and who pressed
him obstreperously to dine with them and stay
with them. And if he ever wanted money he
had no lack of friends to look to and ask for help.

The fiction of the captaincy, which was so
scrupulously supported by those below him,
always gave him a little pain. "I have no right
to it," he said. "And they may well laugh at
me," he would say, very earnestly and simply;
"but what can I do? It is so hard to explain,
and to be explaining it every time. And they
do it out of good nature, all the time, you
know." His friends were very earnest on this
point, and held to this dignity as if it were a
point of faith. But he never would adopt it
on his card, or endorse the little deceit in his
own writing, but was always plain "Mr. Thomas
Diamond."

Besides being the friend of Colonel Cameron—
afterwards Sir Thomas, K.C.B.—he had known
plenty of dashing officers of the Prince Regent's
era such as Colonel Lascelles, Captain King—
afterwards General King, and governor of islands
- Trevylian, and many more. The captain had
a surprising delicacy and unselfish sensitiveness;
and though often led on to talk pleasantly
of his exploits with those officers, beginning
with evident pleasure, yet would check himself