Glencore now covered his face with his hands, and relapsed into silence. At length he lifted his eyes till they fell upon a colored drawing over the chimney. It was an officer in hussar uniform, mounted on a splendid charger, and seated with all the graceful ease of a consummate horseman. This much alone he could perceive from where he lay, and indolently raising himself on one arm, he asked if it were “a portrait of his master”? “No, sir; of my master's colonel, Lord Glencore, when he commanded the Eighth, and was said to be the handsomest man in the service.” “Show it to me!” cried he, eagerly, and almost snatched the drawing from the other's hands. He gazed at it intently and fixedly, and his sallow cheek once reddened slightly as he continued to look. “That never was a likeness!” said he, bitterly. “My master thinks it a wonderful resemblance, sir,--not of what he is now, of course; but that was taken fifteen years ago or more.” “And is he so changed since that?” asked the sick man, plaintively. “So I hear, sir. He had a stroke of some kind, or fit of one sort or another, brought on by fretting. They took away his title, I'm told. They made out that he had no right to it, that he wasn't the real lord. But here's the Colonel, sir;” and almost as he spoke, Harcourt's step was on the stair. The next moment his hand was cordially clasped in that of his guest. “I scarcely expected you before six; and how have you borne the journey?” cried he, taking a seat beside the sofa. A gentle motion of the eyebrows gave the reply. “Well, well, you'll be all right after the soup. Marcom, serve the dinner at once. I'll not dress. And mind, no admittance to any one.” “You have heard from Upton?” asked Glencore. “Yes.” “And satisfactorily?” asked he, more anxiously. “Quite so; but you shall know all by and by. I have got mackerel for you. It was a favorite dish of yours long ago, and you shall taste such mutton as your Welsh mountains can't equal. I got the haunch from the Ardennes a week ago, and kept it for you.” “I wish I deserved such generous fare; but I have only an invalid's stomach,” said Glencore, smiling faintly. “You shall be reported well, and fit for duty to-day, or my name is not George Harcourt. The strongest and toughest fellow that ever lived could n't stand up against the united effects of low diet and low spirits. To act generously and think generously, you must live generously, take plenty of exercise, breathe fresh air, and know what it is to be downright weary when you go to bed,--not bored, mark you, for that's another thing. Now, here comes the soup, and you shall tell me whether turtle be not the best restorative a man ever took after twelve hours of the road.”