surprised at it."

The General mused to himself. "He's a fine soldierly fellow," he
said, gazing after the tall retreating figure. "I should like to
make a dragoon of him. He's the very man for a saddle. He'd dash
across country in the face of heavy guns any day with the best of
them."

"He rides well," Philip answered, "and has a wonderful seat. I saw
him on that bay mare of Wilder's in town the other afternoon, and I
must say he rode much more like a gentleman than a cobbler."

"Oh, he's a gentleman," the General repeated, with unshaken
conviction: "a thoroughbred gentleman." And he scanned Philip up
and down with his keen grey eye as if internally reflecting that
Philip's own right to criticise and classify that particular
species of humanity was a trifle doubtful. "I should much like to
make a captain of hussars of him. He'd be splendid as a leader of
irregular horse; the very man for a scrimmage!" For the General's
one idea when he saw a fine specimen of our common race was the
Zulu's or the Red Indian's--what an admirable person he would be
to employ in killing and maiming his fellow-creatures!

"He'd be better engaged so," the Dean murmured reflectively, "than
in diffusing these horrid revolutionary and atheistical doctrines."
For the Church was as usual in accord with the sword; theoretically
all peace, practically all bloodshed and rapine and aggression: and
anything that was not his own opinion envisaged itself always to
the Dean's crystallised mind as revolutionary and atheistic.