Gervase was up betimes on the morning following his return. He had seen Colonel Murray the night before at the guard house, whither that gallant soldier had just returned after a hot encounter with the enemy, and had heard from his lips an account of their first skirmish that had taken place that very day. Murray had promised him a vacant cornetcy in his own regiment of horse, and the prospect of plenty of service.
Gervase buckled on his sword after a hasty breakfast, his mind full of the hope that a high-spirited young-fellow naturally indulges in at such a time. His imagination had been touched and his heart had been stirred by the peril of the situation. He had caught the joyous enthusiasm of the time, and he whistled merrily a bar of Lillibullero as he went down the crooked stair, and came into the ill-lighted shop. The door was lying open, but the shutters had not been taken down. Trade was not of the briskest of late days, and the stock was somewhat meagre. The varied assortment of wares--linens, broadcloth, and laces--had nearly disappeared, and the little linen-draper, Simon Sproule, was seated with a rueful countenance at his desk, with his ledger spread open before him. So intent was he on the open page that he had not heard Gervase come clanking down the stairs, and it was only when the latter stepped forward and laid his hand on his shoulder, that he raised his head with a startled look. Then he jumped up and held out his hand.
“God bless my soul! I am glad to see you, Mr. Orme; I had never thought to have laid my eyes on you again. It was only on Thursday I was telling Elizabeth--and she´ll bear me out in what I say--that ´twas likely your dust was mingled by this time with the clods of the valley, and we were both grieved to have lost you.”
“I am sure I am much bound to both of you,” Gervase answered, laughing, “but you can see that I look little like a dying man yet; just as much as you look like an honest tradesman.”
The little man surveyed himself ruefully, and with such solemnity of visage that Gervase could not suppress a smile of amusement. His coat of claret-coloured cloth had given place to a buff jacket which had already seen considerable service on a man larger than himself, and he was encased to the thighs in a pair of jack-boots that gave his nether extremities a very striking appearance. On a stool hard by was a steel head-piece of an antiquated pattern, and leaning against the counter was a musket, the lock of which he had apparently recently been oiling. The bulging forehead with its overhanging tuft of red hair, the nose that providence had carefully tilted up, and the blue eyes that always met you with a look of mild wonder in them, harmonized but ill with his military equipment. He shook his head sadly.