Van Duyk would have freighted a shipful of presents to Rupert's friends in England, but the latter would not hear of it. He insisted, however, on sending a pipe of magnificent old Burgundy for the colonel's drinking; while Maria sent a stomacher of antique workmanship, with valuable gems, to Madame Holliday.
No adventure marked their homeward journey. Their ship took them rapidly with a fair wind to London Bridge; and Rupert and Hugh started next day by the coach for Derby, the former having made Joe Sedley a handsome present, to enable him to enjoy his holiday, and an invitation to come down to Windthorpe Chace when he was tired of London.
A letter had been written from Holland a few days before starting, to announce their coming, but it was, of course, impossible in the days of sailing ships to fix a day for arrival.
Hiring a chaise, they drove to Windthorpe Chace, where the delight both of Mistress Holliday and of the colonel was unbounded. Hugh, too, was greeted very warmly by both, for Rupert had done full justice to the services he had rendered him. It was difficult to recognize in the dashing looking young officer and the stalwart trooper the lads who but two years and a half before had ridden away posthaste from the Chace. Hugh was driven off to the farm; and Rupert remained alone with his mother and the colonel, who overwhelmed him with questions.
The colonel had changed but little, and bid fair to live to a great age. His eye was bright, and his bearing still erect. He scarcely looked sixty-five, although he was more than ten years older.
Mistress Dorothy was, Rupert thought, softer and kinder than of old. Her pride, and to some extent her heart, had met with a rude shock, but her eyes were now fully open to the worthlessness of her former suitor, who had lately been obliged to fly the country, having been detected at cheating at cards.
Colonel Holliday rejoiced when he heard of the pipe of prime Burgundy, which started from London on the day Rupert left; while Mistress Dorothy was enchanted with the stomacher, which her son produced from his trunk.
"Have you ever heard from Monsieur Dessin, grandfather? You told me that he said he would write and tell you his real name."
"I doubt not that he did so, Rupert; but the carriage of letters between this and France is precarious. Only smugglers or such like bring them over, and these, except when specially paid, care but little for the trouble. That he wrote I am certain, but his letter has not reached me, which I regret much."
The six months at home passed rapidly. Rupert fell into his old ways; rode and hawked, and occasionally paid state visits to the gentry of the neighbourhood, by whom, as one of Marlborough's soldiers, he was made much of.