Lady Rosamonds Secret | Page 8

young Lieutenant selected a passage from "Cymbeline," receiving
the gratitude and applause of the ladies, to whose repeated entreaties he
also read an extract from "King Lear," commencing with the line "No, I
will be the pattern of all patience." Guy Trevelyan's voice was full, soft
and musical, having the power of soothing the listener; but when
required for dramatic readings, could command a versatility that was
surprising. Miss Douglas archly proposed to Lady Douglas her wish to
join in a game of whist. Thus engaged, the remainder of the evening
passed quickly away. Mary Douglas still retaining her gallant partner,
having secured the rubber against Mr. Howe and Miss Douglas,
warmly congratulated Sir Howard on their success. "Never despair,
Miss Douglas," said Mr. Howe, "we bide our time." The secretary's
carriage being announced, with smiles and bows he took leave,
followed by Mr. Trevelyan, who accepted the proffered invitation.
CHAPTER III.

AN EVENING IN OFFICERS' MESS-ROOM.
Many of our readers are familiar with the old building still standing,
facing on Queen Street, known as the officers' barracks. At the time
when this story opened, this was a scene of continual festivity--life in
its gayest aspect. Here were quartered the noisy, the swaggering, the
riotous, the vain, the gallant, the honourable, and all those different
qualities which help to form the make-up of the many individuals
comprising the officers of H. M. 52nd Regiment. At no period, before
or since, has Fredericton ever risen to such notoriety. Several
enterprising gentlemen of this body in connexion with a few of the
leading citizens planned and laid the first regular and circular race
course, near where the present now is situated, under the management
of J. H. Reid, Esq., and the members of York County Agricultural
Society.
On the old race course it was no unusual occurrence to witness as many
as a dozen races during the space of two days. Sons of gentlemen, both
in military and private life, were the owners of thorough-bred horses,
each claiming the highest distinctions regarding full-blooded pedigree.
These were Fredericton's glorious days--days of sport; days of chivalry;
days of splendour and high life. On the evening in question, a festive
board was spread with all the eclat attending a dinner party. Some
hours previous a grand assemblage had gathered on the race course to
witness a race between Captain Douglas' mare Bess, and a celebrated
racer introduced on the course by Lieutenant-Colonel Tilden, ridden by
his groom. Much betting had arisen on both sides. Excitement ran high.
Bets were being doubled. The universal din and uproar was growing
loud, noisy and clamorous. The band played spirited music,
commencing with national airs, and, in compliment to an American
officer, a guest of Sir Thomas Tilden, finished off with Hail Columbia.
Bess won the race. His Excellency, Capt. Douglas, in the capacity of
aide-de-camp, Mr. Howe and Mr. James Douglas, with their friend,
Lieutenant Trevelyan, stood on an eminence bordered by woods. Here
Sir Howard watched the afternoon's sport with keen interest. He saw in
the assembly many features to be discountenanced. None admired a
noble animal better than Sir Howard, and none were more humane in

their treatment. Captain Douglas entered more into the sport of the
proceedings. His whole mind for the present was centered on the
expectation of his noble little animal. In gaining the race he was
generous to the last degree. Honor was the password in all his actions,
while he gave his opponents that feeling which led them to thank him
for an honorable defeat.
The occasion of Lt. Col. Tilden's arrival was always hailed with a
round of festivities. This evening was the commencement, servants in
livery were at every footstep. An array of butlers and waiters was
conspicuous arranging the different tables. The grateful odors emitted
from several passages presaged the elaborate dishes to be served. The
rattle of dishes, clinking of glasses, and drawing of corks, hinted of the
viands in unlimited store. While the above were conducted in the
mess-room, many of the guests were as busy in their own private
apartments making the necessary toilet for the reception. In the
foremost tier of rooms to the left, facing the river, on the ground floor,
is the one occupied by Lieut. Guy Trevelyan. He is brushing out the
waves of chestnut brown hair which, though short, shows a tendency to
assert its nature despite the stern orders of military rule. A shade passes
over the brow of the youthful-looking soldier as he dons his scarlet
uniform. His thoughts are not at ease. Guy Trevelyan feels a vague and
unaccountable yearning--an undefined feeling which is impossible to
shake off. "Well, Trevelyan," soliloquized he; "you are a strange old
fellow; such a state as this must not be indulged amidst the