“Yes, Amy, it is Harry himself. And you—how you have grown! When I last saw you, you were a chubby little girl, But, Amy, Amy, is that a tear on your cheek? What is the meaning of it?” “Oh, nothing serious, I assure you. I am so glad—so very glad to see you, Harry! You intend to remain with us, do you not?” “Nay, I must know the meaning of that tear. Father is well, is he not?” “When I last heard from him, at Charleston, he was never better. We are all well—quite well.” “Introduce me to your companion, Amy.” Amy did as her brother requested; and the introduction was soon succeeded by a frank explanation of the position of the parties, and of Aunt Adeline’s ferocious opposition to the existence of their present relation. “I will punish the old shrew,” exclaimed Harry. “I owe her an ancient grudge, for making me go in petticoats, when a boy, a year longer than was necessary. Let me see—she is daily expecting this Colonel Mornington, you say?” “Yes; and she is studying, with more zest than ever, the family records, to enlighten him fully in regard to her pedigree.” “Well, you must concur in a little plot, by which you can be relieved from her present system of annoyance, and I can gratify the long-deferred vengeance implanted by her opposition to my appearance in jacket and trowsers. It is nearly ten years since she saw me. Of course she will not recognize me with these hirsute appendages. I will appear as Col. Mornington. I will make love to you. You must prove fickle, and receive my attentions—and then leave the _dénouement_ to me.” “Delightful! Do you approve of it, Thomas?” “By all means. It will be a very harmless mode of revenging ourselves.” An hour afterwards, as Aunt Adeline was peeping through the parlor blinds, she saw, as she supposed, the long expected carriage of Col. Mornington dash up before the door, and the colonel himself—the “dear, delightful colonel,” with a remarkably languid air, alight. Preceded by a servant, she hastened to receive him, and, as the door was thrown open, welcomed him to Glenwood with an antiquarian courtesy. The colonel’s manner of receiving her salutation was rather peculiar. Before replying to her greeting, or saying a word, he slowly drew from his pocket a leather case, from which he took an enormous opera glass. Then hunting, first in one pocket and then in another, for a handkerchief, he finally succeeded in finding one; and, in a manner which was not at all significant of haste, proceeded to wipe the glasses. Then leisurely returning the handkerchief to its place of deposit, he balanced himself in a sort of easy straddle, coolly put the opera-glass to his eyes, and took a long survey of Aunt Adeline’s physiognomy. As soon as he had finished his inspection he returned the glass to its case, and asked, in a drawling tone—“Are you Miss Am-Am-Amworth, or Amburgh, or Am—”