fell back a pace, opening the door a trifle wider. "Good God, sir!
You don't say as how--"

"You can fetch down a Secretary or someone, I hope?" said Lieutenant
Lapenotiere, quickly stepping past him into the long dim hall.
"My dispatches are of the first importance. I have posted up from
Falmouth without halt but for relays."

As the man closed the door, he heard his post-boy of the last relay
slap one of the horses encouragingly before heading home to stable.
The chaise wheels began to move on the cobbles.

"His Lordship himself will see you, sir. Of that I make no doubt,"
twittered the night-porter, fumbling with the bolt. "There was a
terrible disturbance, back in July, when Captain Bettesworth
arrived--not so late as this, to be sure, but towards midnight--and
they waited till morning, to carry up the dispatches with his
Lordship's chocolate. Thankful was I next day not to have been on
duty at the time. . . . If you will follow me, sir--"

Lieutenant Lapenotiere had turned instinctively towards a door on the
right. It admitted to the Waiting Room, and there were few officers
in the service who did not know--and only too well--that Chamber of
Hope Deferred.

"No, sir, . . . this way, if you please," the night-porter corrected
him, and opened a door on the left. "The Captains' Room," he
announced, passing in and steering for the chimney-shelf, on which
stood a pair of silver sconces each carrying three wax candles.
These he took down, lit and replaced. "Ah, sir! Many's the time