Standish was sufficiently a man of the world to see that he had overacted his part, and had not made a favourable impression. Mr. Trevor and his son became more and more coldly civil. The visitor took the chief share of the conversation, gave his anecdotes, and cracked his jokes. The Englishmen thought his jokes coarse, and his anecdotes of questionable authenticity. Conversation slackened, and in about half an hour the colonel rose to take his departure. "I put up at the White Hart at S----," said he, as he threw down on the table a card for Vibert. "I find the accommodation fair, very fair, but my stay in the town is uncertain. I hope that we shall soon meet again," and the colonel shook the hand of Mr. Trevor, but a good deal less cordially than he had done on his first introduction to the father of Emmie. "We do not echo his hope," observed Bruce, as soon as the visitor had tramped out of the house. "Who can this low-bred talkative fellow be?" said Mr. Trevor. "It is not difficult for an impostor to pass himself off as a colonel, when those who would have proofs of his being so must seek for them at the other side of the Atlantic Ocean." "I doubt this man's being American at all," observed Bruce. "I did not detect in his speech the peculiar Yankee accent, though it was interlarded with Yankee phrases." "I shall not encourage this colonel's coming about the house," said Mr. Trevor, walking up to the window. "Why, there's Vibert accompanying him down the drive!" "And they look hand and glove," added Bruce. "How they are laughing and talking together!" "Vibert is young and unsuspicious," observed Mr. Trevor, as he turned from the window; "his generous, frank disposition lays him peculiarly open to deception. We must make some inquiries at S---- regarding this Colonel Standish. Your tutor, Mr. Blair, may know something of the man, and the character which he bears." "I will not forget to gain what information I can," said Bruce Trevor. CHAPTER XIII. WORK. On the following Sunday afternoon Emmie was sitting alone by the drawing-room window, with a devotional book in her hand, but her eyes resting on the fading glories of the woodland landscape, and her thoughts on her childhood's home, when she was joined by her brother Bruce. "I am glad to find you alone," said Bruce, as he took a seat by his sister's side; "I want to consult you, I need your help." Such words from the lips of the speaker were gratifying to Emmie; Bruce was ever more ready to give help than to ask it. Emmie closed her book, put it down, and was at once all attention. "I have been making a little chart of the estate," said Bruce, unrolling a paper which he placed before his sister. "What are those square marks on it?" inquired Emmie, looking with interest at the neatly executed chart.