"Spillsby—Andrews, send for John Girvan: zounds! the 25th, too—the blessed old number!—here's news for him! The lost is found again! You'll write him, Winny—and Flora, too—gad, we'll all write!" continued the old Lord, in a very incoherent way. "The cunning rogue, to keep us in suspense so long, and to be wearing the buttons of the old Borderers all the time. It must be he: there can't be two Quentin Kennedies; oh, no—of course it must be he!"
"There is something strange in this," said Lady Rohallion, finding relief in tears; "how many letters, Flora, have we had from Cosmo since he left us?"
"Five."
"Five letters!"
"One from Colchester; others from Santarem and Abrantes; and two from Portalegre."
"Exactly," said Lord Rohallion, on whose benign brow a cloud gathered; "five letters, and in none of them has one word escaped him concerning the poor lad who joined the corps before him—the dear old 25th, of my earliest memories. It is not generous, Winny; I don't envy Quentin his commanding officer; it shows a bad animus, and I am sorry our boy should behave so."
Lady Winifred was silent, for she felt the truth of what her husband said; and Flora, full of her own joyous thoughts, was silent too.
"Read over the paragraph again, Flora, darling; egad, I must cut it out, and send it over to Earl Hugh, at Eglinton;" and while Flora read, Rohallion walked to and fro, rubbing his hands with intense satisfaction and delight.
"But, good heavens, my lord," she suddenly exclaimed, while the colour left her face, "what is this that follows? there is here another paragraph, about—about——"
"About what?"