My door was then thrown open, and who should waddle into the room, but fat Wilkinson! My first feeling (could you believe it) was of gladness at seeing him; nor had I presence of mind enough, either to repulse his embrace, or utter a piercing shriek. Happily my recollection soon returned, and I flung him from me. 'Cherry,' said he, 'dear Cherry, what have I done to you, that you should use me thus? Was there ever a wish of your heart that I left ungratified? And now to desert me in my old age! Only come home with me, my child, only come home with me, and I will forgive you all.' 'Wilkinson,' said I, 'this interview must be short, pointed, and decisive. As to calling yourself my father, that is a stale trick, and will not pass; and as to personating (what I perceive you aspire to) the grand villain of my plot, your corpulency, pardon me, puts that out of the question for ever. I should be just as happy to employ you as any other man I know, but excuse me if I say, that you rather overrate your talents and qualifications. Have you the gaunt ferocity of famine in your countenance? Can you darken the midnight of a scowl? Have you the quivering lip and the Schedoniac contour? And while the lower part of your face is hidden in black drapery, can your eyes glare from under the edge of a cowl? In a word, are you a picturesque villain, full of plot, and horror, and magnificent wickedness? Ah, no, Sir, you are only a sleek, good-humoured, chuckle-headed gentleman. Continue then what nature made you; return to your plough, mow, reap, fatten your pigs and the parson; but never again attempt to get yourself thrust into the pages of a romance.' Disappointment and dismay forced more meaning into his features than I thought them possessed of. The fact is, he had never imagined that my notions of what villains ought to be were so refined; and that I have formed my taste in these matters upon the purest models. As a last effort of despair, the silly man flung himself on his knees before me, and grasping my hands, looked up in my face, with such an imploring wretchedness of expression, while the tears rolled silently down his cheeks, that I confess I was a little moved; and for the moment fancied him sincere. 'Now goodness bless thee,' said he, at length, 'goodness bless thee, for those sweet tears of thine, my daughter!' 'Tears!' cried I, quite shocked. 'Yes, darling,' said he, 'and now with this kiss of peace and love, we will blot out all the past.' I shrieked, started from my seat, and rushed into the expanding arms of Montmorenci. 'And pray, Sir,' cried Wilkinson, advancing fiercely, 'who are you?'