Lord Strathern, a veteran somewhat the worse for wear, had entered the
army a cadet of a Scotch family, more noble than rich. At length, the
obliging death of a cousin brought him a Scotch peerage, and an estate
little adequate to support that dignity. High rank, and a narrow
estate, form an inconvenient union; so he stuck to the profession
which he loved, and, being a widower, entrusted his only child, a
daughter, to a sister in Scotland.
Though he had seen little of domestic life, he was an affectionate
man. The briskness of the last campaign, and the number of his friends
who dropped off in the course of it, strongly warned him that if he
would once again see his daughter, now attaining womanhood, it would
be well to lose no time about it. So, one morning, during the retreat
from Burgos, after issuing the brigade orders for the day, he penned
an order to his sister in Scotland, to send out the young lady, with
proper attendants, under the care of the wife of any officer of rank
who might be sailing for Lisbon. There she would be within reach, and
he might find leisure to visit her.
His sister would have protested against this had she had an
opportunity; but the order of the father, and the affectionate and
adventurous spirit of the daughter, at once decided the matter.
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