At the close of October 1760, the tidings of King George II.’s death became known throughout the greater part of the kingdom; and following closely upon the spreading of this intelligence came a letter from Amy to Reginald, containing the joyful news that Colonel Thorpe was on his way to London to attend the opening of parliament by the new king, and that his daughter was coming with him. Ainslie, after the expiration of a few days, presented himself at Colonel Thorpe’s former apartments, where the first person he encountered was that worthy officer himself, stiff, irritable, and in a decidedly unpleasant temper. Their conversation commenced with a formal exchange of civilities, and Reginald seated himself on the chair which was pointed out to him, calm and unruffled in countenance, but with a heart which he had steeled and prepared for the worst. Colonel Thorpe was glad that Lieutenant Ainslie had called, as he wished to have some serious conversation with him. There had been a—in fact there had been a correspondence kept up with his daughter, an interchange of letter-writing and—and that sort of thing, which must be discontinued. ‘Am I to understand, sir,’ said the young officer, with difficulty repressing his growing wrath—‘am I to understand that you wish me to resign all pretensions to Miss Thorpe’s hand?’ The colonel did not exactly say that; he said the correspondence must be discontinued for—for a time. If at some future date Lieutenant Ainslie could show satisfactory proofs that he would be able to maintain his daughter in a position of comfort and dignity consistent with that in which she had been brought up, he (Colonel Thorpe) might feel disposed to listen to any advances Lieutenant Ainslie thought proper to make. Till then, all interchange of sentiment must cease. That was all; Colonel Thorpe had nothing further to say. Ere another week had passed, during which the lovers met but once, the colonel’s apartments were again vacant, and Reginald Ainslie was wondering at what remote period of his life he should again see Amy Thorpe. Poverty was the bane of the young soldier, and the monotonous round of barrack-life was by no means the royal road to wealth. Reginald, however, had for some time been meditating over a deep-laid purpose, the object of which was to recover an ancient property which his immediate ancestors, by their Jacobite proclivities, had forfeited. On obtaining leave of absence, therefore, shortly before Christmas, he set out for Fridswold, and made a series of excursions to Coombe Hall, to lay before his beloved Amy all his hopes and fears, and to receive from her encouragement in his momentous quest. But his proposed visit had been put a stop to by the colonel’s letter, and now this secret meeting in the arbour was the next expedient of the faithful pair.