“You are leaving us early, Colonel,” said the old General, as he awoke from a long nap on the little corner sofa, which formed his resting-place. “It is past two, sir; and, even in your society, one cannot cheat time.” Then, having acquitted himself of his debt of impertinence, he wished them good-night. The others, also, took their leave and departed. CHAPTER XXII. KATE. LET us now return to Kate Dalton, whose life, since we last saw her, had been one round of brilliant enjoyment. To the pleasure of the journey, with all its varied objects of interest, the picturesque scenery of the Via Mala, the desolate grandeur of the Splugen, the calm and tranquil beauty of Como, succeeded the thousand treasures of art in the great cities where they halted. At first every image and object seemed associated by some invisible link with thoughts of home. What would Nelly think or say of this? was the ever-recurring question of her mind. How should she ever be able to treasure up her own memories and tell of the wonderful things that every moment met her eyes? The quick succession of objects, all new and dazzling, were but so many wonders to bring back to that “dear fireside” of home. The Onslows themselves, who saw everything without enthusiasm of any kind, appeared to take pleasure in the freshness of the young girl's admiration. It gave them, as it were, a kind of reflected pleasure, while, amid galleries and collections of all that was rare and curious, nothing struck them as half so surprising as the boundless delight of her unhackneyed nature. Educated to a certain extent by watching the pursuits of her sister, Kate knew how to observe with taste, and admire with discrimination. Beauty of high order would seem frequently endowed with a power of appreciating the beauty of art, a species of relation appearing almost to subsist between the two.