While lingering over a pint of beer, I read every word of the "Journal," even to the obituary; and in the column of the latter, was a notice that gave me a shock, as if struck by a bullet. It recorded the death of my grandfather four months ago by a sudden attack of gout in the head, caused, it was stated, by the grief he experienced on hearing that his well-beloved heir, Mr. Anthony Gauntlet, had been killed by a fall from his horse when riding furiously near Kirk Yetholm. "Thus," continued the paper, "the estates of Netherwood, worth thirty thousand per annum, pass to Mr. Anthony's only sister, the charming Miss Aurora Gauntlet, who becomes one of the richest heiresses on the Border, and thus disappears one of our oldest baronetcies, the first Sir John Gauntlet of that ilk, having been one of those, _infeft_ in lands in Canada with power of castle, pit and gallows, in the usual form, by the earth and stone of the castle hill of Edinburgh, and by the hand of Charles I., in person, in 1633." "Disappears!" I muttered, through my clenched teeth. "True, the title disappears; but only for a time I trust." I sat long buried in thought after this. Thirty thousand pounds per annum! That money by right was mine; this cousin, this Aurora, whom I had never known, never seen, and whom I hated in my heart as a fresh usurper, would doubtless be married by some one--a fortune-hunter, a needy adventurer perhaps--and thus my patrimony would go to the enrichment of strangers, while I---- Thick and fast, fierce thoughts crowded upon me; I had little more than enough to pay for the poor glass of beer I had drunk, but I threw it on the table, and walked sullenly off without waiting for the change. As I walked along the road, other emotions came over me--emotions that were prouder, better, more lofty and more soothing, for I saw the white tents of the camp--my new home--shining in the setting sun, as they dotted all Southsea Common. I remembered the story of one whose fate was somewhat, if not exactly, similar--the poor Scottish baronet, Sir Robert Innes, who became a private in the foot regiment of Colonel Winram, of Liberton, and remained there long in obscurity, as private Robert Innes, till a former friend recognised him when on duty as sentinel one day before the quarters of the colonel.