"Hush, Peggy! we must not blame those that are gone," said the gentle Colonel; "they are in other hands than ours; but it has been a melancholy business altogether. Horace, do you know, wishes to leave home and begin the world for himself." "And the sooner the better, Cornel!" cried Peggy; "the lad will be clean ruined, root and branch, if he bides here. I would give all the pennies I've gathered all my life to see him safe out of that door, though he's a strange lad, is Mr. Horace. Hoosht, they're coming--listen, Cornel," said Peggy, stretching up to the Colonel's ear, that she might whisper this last communication--"Don't you be afeard about Miss Susan. I've that confidence in the Lord, I believe the poor chyild will fall to your hands, Mr. Edward, when the time comes; but, Lord bless you, Cornel, she's no more like her brother nor the tares is like the corn. Her heart's as sweet as a rose--nothing in this world can kill the good that's in that unfortinate infant, but Death itself. Hoosht, here they are coming!--she's just the delight of an ould woman's eyes--ay, there she is!" The Colonel heard this speech very imperfectly, understanding just enough of it to know that Susan was commended, and nodding his kind head in pleased acquiescence; but when Peggy ended her oration by crying "There she is!" Uncle Edward turned round to greet his niece, who came running up to him out of breath. Susan was sorry, shocked, surprised, and delighted--but underneath all her flutter the Colonel, whose vision was quick when those whom he loved were concerned, saw at a glance that her eyes were red, and that even her joy in seeing him was made half-hysterical by some other sentiment lying under it, which she did not wish him to see. This contradiction of feeling, new and unusual to her, made Susan unlike herself. Her manner was hasty and agitated--she laughed as if to keep herself from crying. Colonel Sutherland looked at her with silent distress and sympathy. What new development of trouble had appeared now? "Why did you come?" cried Susan. "I wanted Horace to carry a note, and he would not; but he promised to tell you what I said. And your rheumatism, uncle--I am so distressed to think you should have come all this way for me." "But suppose I did not come all this way for you?" said Colonel Sutherland. "Don't you think my visit is too important to be all for a little girl? No, my love, I should have come for you whether or not--but to-day, I mean, if possible, to see your father." Peggy had left the room, and Horace had not yet entered it: the two were alone together. "To see papa!" cried Susan, with a look of dismay, clinging suddenly to her uncle's arm, and looking up in his face. "Oh, uncle, not to-day!" "And why not to-day, my dear child?" said the Colonel, tenderly; "what has happened to-day? You have been crying, Susan. Can you tell why that was?"