So he sat before his house-book, with his steel pen in his hand, and making crosses here and notes of interrogation there. "Mrs. M'Catchley's maid," said the Colonel to himself, "must be put upon rations. The tea that she drinks! Good Heavens!--tea again!" There was a modest ring at the outer door. "Too early for a visitor!" thought the Colonel. "Perhaps it is the Water-rates." The neat man-servant--never seen, beyond the offices, save in _grande tenue_, plushed and powdered--entered, and bowed. "A gentleman, sir, wishes to see you." "A gentleman," repeated the Colonel, glancing toward the clock. "Are you sure it is a gentleman?" The man hesitated. "Why, sir, I ben't exactly sure; but he speaks like a gentleman. He do say he comes from London to see you, sir." A long and interesting correspondence was then being held between the Colonel and one of his wife's trustees, touching the investment of Mrs. Pompley's fortune. It might be the trustee--nay, it must be. The trustee had talked of running down to see him. "Let him come in," said the Colonel; "and when I ring--sandwiches and sherry." "Beef, sir?" "Ham." The Colonel put aside his house-book, and wiped his pen. In another minute the door opened, and the servant announced--"MR. DIGBY." The Colonel's face fell, and he staggered back. The door closed, and Mr. Digby stood in the middle of the room, leaning on the great writing-table for support. The poor soldier looked sicklier and shabbier, and nearer the end of all things in life and fortune, than when Lord L'Estrange had thrust the pocket-book into his hands. But still the servant showed knowledge of the world in calling him gentleman; there was no other word to apply to him. "Sir," began Colonel Pompley, recovering himself, and with great solemnity, "I did not expect this pleasure." The poor visitor stared round him dizzily, and sank into a chair, breathing hard. The Colonel looked as a man only looks upon a poor relation, and buttoned up first one trowser-pocket and then the other. "I thought you were in Canada," said the Colonel at last. Mr. Digby had now got breath to speak, and he said meekly, "The climate would have killed my child, and it is two years since I returned." "You ought to have found a very good place in England, to make it worth your while to leave Canada." "She could not have lived through another winter in Canada--the doctor said so." "Pooh," quoth the Colonel. Mr. Digby drew a long breath. "I would not come to you, Colonel Pompley, while you could think that I came as a beggar for myself." The Colonel's brow relaxed. "A very honorable sentiment, Mr. Digby." "No: I have gone through a great deal: but you see, Colonel," added the poor relation, with a faint smile, "the campaign is well-nigh over, and peace is at hand." The Colonel seemed touched.