Flora in love! With whom?--with whom? ah! that was the point. Who had won her young susceptible heart? Of young Vivian he never thought. It was but the other day he was a mere youth; his figure did not, therefore, now present itself to his inquiring eyes. Was it young Grahame? His father had written to propose the match, but where had they met? Then, too, he was vulgar and foolish. No, no; he gave Flora’s taste more credit. Who was there else? no one--save Mires. The old man stopped in his walk. “Can he have taken the opportunity of being my guest, to gain her simple heart?” he muttered, with a fierce and angry gesture. “Can he possibly have done this? He may--he is subtle and insinuating; if he has, he shall never have her--never. It may be that I have hit the truth in this surmise, but I will be sure; I will question him, and from his own lips learn the truth.” He rang his bell violently, and a servant answered him. “Seek Colonel Mires,” he said, sharply; “say to him that when he is at liberty, I should be glad of a few minutes’ conversation with him here in the library.” The man disappeared with a bow, and performed his errand. An hour probably elapsed, during which Wilton was eaten up with anxiety, and a thousand distracting and inexact surmises. He was about again to summon his servant, to request the presence of his guest, when Colonel Mires made his appearance. Wilton made a sharp and curt remark upon the engagement which had so long detained him from complying with his request for an interview, but he expressed his gratification that it had not wholly prevented him from presenting himself. The Colonel saw that something had happened, and excused himself by stating that the servant who had conveyed to him the message, had given him no intimation that Wilton desired the interview to be immediate. “As it is calculated to have a material influence upon my future peace, it is one which cannot commence too early, nor close too soon,” Wilton exclaimed, as he motioned Colonel Mires to a seat, which he accepted. Wilton then proceeded-- “I have a daughter, Colonel Mires, almost at a marriageable age.” Colonel Mires’ face flushed crimson, as Wilton’s bright eye met his. He only bowed, however, wondering what this observation was to prelude, especially as he could see that the old man was trembling with strong excitement. “That daughter, as you are aware, Colonel Mires,” continued Wilton, “is my favourite child, the gift of wedded love, the most beautiful among her sex--the ‘Flower of my Flock.’ I had designed a certain position for her. I had bound myself to its fulfilment by a vow. I have through the greatest trials and worst vicissitudes cherished it, and now, when upon the verge of its consummation, I find my purpose retarded, flung back by an event as unlooked for as it is most untoward.” “Indeed, sir.”