CHAPTER III.

IN LONDON.

“Primeramente, oh hijo, has de temer a Dios; porque en el temerle està la sabiduria, y siendo sabio no podrás errar en nada.”—CERVANTES: Don Quijote.

First, oh my son, must you fear God; because in fearing Him is wisdom, and being wise you can never go wrong.

A FEW posts brought back instructions for Alured to present himself at Sandhurst forthwith.

"How about the examination, boy? Can you pass?" asked his father.

Alured was doubtful.

"We had better give you a run for a week or two at some good army coach's."

"And when do you think of starting?" asked Mrs. Frere nervously.

"The sooner the better. To-morrow." "Oh, Robert!"

Then silence fell upon them all. This was not the first message of the kind that had reached the Freres. Just a year before, the

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same order had come to Robert, the eldest son. Mrs. Frere bethought herself of the day when the first-born had gone forth in the heyday of life and strength. The adieux then said and the kisses she had pressed on his youthful brow were still fresh in her mind. Now Alured, the second, was en route for the same goal. The mother fairly gave way, and the others caught the infection. That night they lived again the night of anguish which had followed the announcement of Inkerman's victory. The girls sobbed themselves to sleep, and Robert Frere sought in vain to solace his wife in her affliction.

Next day after nightfall father and son started for London. The parting was a dismal affair, though Mrs. Frere tried to cheat herself into some comfort by fancying that the final farewell was not to be said just yet. She counted upon seeing Alured again before he set out on his long and perilous journey. Major Frere intended otherwise, but had said nothing out of consideration for his wife's feelings—but cruel kindness after all. He had resolved to launch Alured straight from London,

without revisiting Scaggleton even for a day. He felt that he dared not expose her to the sufferings which that final parting must inevitably occasion; sufferings protracted through the days that the Castle would be littered with the paraphernalia of the young soldier's outfit, the box and sword-case, gun and bullock-trunk, the counterpart of last year's preparations. Such things would recall too vividly the past. So when Alured left Scaggleton, he left it for good.

They reached London early on the following morning and were landed after a fatiguing journey at their lodgings in a quiet street off the Strand, leading down to the river, just as the throbbing, high pulsed life of the great city was beating most vigorously. The effect upon Alured, fresh from stagnant Scaggleton and his mother's apron strings, was almost astounding. He had never dreamt that London was like this. The shifting, changing current of people was like the endless rush of rapid waters. The hurrying, excited crowds of human beings, pressing onward, onward; the noise, the din of wheels and of voices, the cries

new and strange, sharp and discordant,-all these stunned, dazed, terrified him. He was lifted off his feet as it were; jostled mind and body. Nor was it possible for him to shake himself free from the strange fascination that possessed him even when ensconced in his dingy little bedroom in Northumberland Street. Even here the racket and turmoil followed him. The hubbub outside still rattled in his ears, and the voices seemed to be entreating him with loud and persistent iteration to come out, and join them in the great stream of life.

"A hat you must have, at once," says the Major peremptorily, "before we do anything else."

"I hate hats!"

Nonsense, Alured! You can't wear any

thing else in London."

"Then I hate London."

Hate London! Heaven save the mark! Would he always speak thus of the great Babylon with which he was yet barely on terms of ordinary acquaintance? And all for a silly cap he had won at football last term. But his father knew better, and marched the

lad at once to a well-known hat-shop in the Strand; then turning westward, and passing into Trafalgar Square, they crossed to Pall Mall, where the elder pointed out the clubs, Union, Athenæum, United Service, and the "Rag." "What an odd name for a club, papa."

'Yes; it is. The Rag and Famish they call it in full," said Major Frere laughingly. "We'll get your name put down for it one of these days."

"I think I'd rather belong to one of the others."

"Would you? Why?"

"I don't like the name."

Again the major laughed, and was about to explain, when he heard himself called to by name from the top of the wide steps that lead to the portal of this club.

"Major Frere, as I live!"

Pierpoint!" answered the major, equally surprised.

"No less. But where in heaven's name have you dropped from? Looking out for some employment I suppose. Command of the Bashi-Bazouks? army service corps ? land