“You know our case, then, and what we claim?” asked Barrington. “Just as every man who has served in India knows it,--popularly, vaguely. I know that Colonel Barrington was, as the adopted son of a Rajah, invested with supreme power, and only needed the ratification of Great Britain to establish a sovereignty; and I have heard”--he laid stress on the word “heard”--“that if it had not been for some allegation of plotting against the Company's government, he really might ultimately have obtained that sanction.” “Just what I have said over and over again?” burst in Barrington. “It was the worst of treachery that mined my poor boy.” “I have heard that also,” said Stapylton, and with a degree of feeling and sympathy that made the old man's heart yearn towards him. “How I wish you had known him!” said he, as he drew his hand over his eyes. “And do you know, sir,” said he, warming, “that if I still follow up this suit, devoting to it the little that is left to me of life or fortune, that I do so less for any hope of gain than to place my poor boy before the world with his honor and fame unstained.” “My old friend does himself no more than justice there!” cried Withering. “A noble object,--may you have all success in it!” said Stapylton. He paused, and then, in a tone of deeper feeling, added: “It will, perhaps, seem a great liberty, the favor I'm about to ask; but remember that, as a brother soldier with your son I have some slight claim to approach you. Will you allow me to offer you such knowledge as I possess of India, to aid your suit? Will you associate me, in fact, with your cause? No higher one could there be than the vindication of a brave man's honor.” “I thank you with all my heart and soul!” cried the old man, grasping his hand. “In my own name, and in that of my poor dear granddaughter, I thank you.” “Oh, then, Colonel Barrington has left a daughter? I was not aware of that,” said Stapylton, with a certain coldness. “And a daughter who knows no more of this suit than of our present discussion of it,” said Withering. In the frankness of a nature never happier than when indulging its own candor, Barrington told how it was to see and fetch back with him the same granddaughter he had left a spot he had not quitted for years. “She 's coming back to a very humble home, it is true; but if you, sir,” said he, addressing Stapylton, “will not despise such lowly fare as a cottage can afford you, and would condescend to come and see us, you shall have the welcome that is due to one who wishes well to my boy's memory.” “And if you do,” broke in Withering, “you'll see the prettiest cottage and the first hostess in Europe; and here 's to her health,--Miss Dinah Barrington!” “I 'm not going to refuse that toast, though I have just passed the decanter,” said Peter. “Here 's to the best of sisters!” “Miss Barrington!” said Stapylton, with a courteous bow; and he drained his glass to the bottom.