Once more the mare, much against her will, slackened her pace. "Ye see, Sir John Armitage, Cornel," said John, raising his hand in explanatory action, "he's wan of the great squires o' th' county. He wasn't born tull't, as ye may say. He was an army gentleman, sir, such like as yourself, and th' ould Sir John was as far off as his second cousin, a dissolute man, without neither chick nor child. This wan, he's grey and onmarried likewise--the title will gang, as it came, slantlike, to a nevvy or a cousin. It's the park, Cornel, a grand mansion as is his sait--but a desolate place, and him no more enjoyment in't nor me. Sir? The mare? Oh ay, she's jogging on." "It's rather cold for this pace, it appears to me," said the Colonel, whose face, so much of it as was visible out of the cloak, was blue with cold. "Hey? Halt then! Do you mean to upset us? What's the matter with the beast now?" "Na, Cornel, she's gane fast and she's gane slow, and nouther pleases--it's none of her blame, puir brute," said John, with affected humility. "I give her a taste o' the whip, and ye say I'll upset ye. Me! I'm the safest driver in ten mile; and as for my mare--there she is--she kens her gate hoam." Where accordingly they arrived in a few minutes, and where the Colonel got down frozen, and limped into the little parlour, where the blazing fire comforted his eyes. But having been frozen stiff in the first part of the road, and then jolted almost to pieces in the concluding gallop, it was some time before his numb fingers had vigour enough to unloose his cloak, and his lips to speak. The landlady brought in wine, pushed it aside with a mild feminine imprecation upon the "cauld stuff," and came back presently with a steaming goblet of brandy and water. The Colonel was the most temperate of men, and had not had his dinner; but the siren seduced him--and the first words he uttered, when the frost in his throat began to melt, was an inquiry, which startled Mrs. Gilsland out of her propriety, for an "Army List," if such a thing was to be had. "An 'Army List!'--eyeh, Cornel, what's that?" said the good woman in dismay. "Are there any old officers about Tillington, Mrs. Gilsland? An 'Army List' is simply a list of the army," said the urbane Colonel. "Do you think you can manage to borrow one for half-an-hour from anybody in the village--eh? Consult with your husband, it is of importance to me." "Him, Cornel? What does he know?" said the landlady. "Officers, na--unless it was th' Ould Hundred, begging your pardon, Cornel, for he's nothing but a sergeant; but that's the byname he goes by in my house." "The Old Hundred? I'm an Old Hundred man myself," said the Colonel, laughing. "Kennedy, is it? No, he will not do, the old humbug--I suspect he tells the lads a parcel of lies about the regiment, and brings discredit on as fine a body of men as there is in the service. Eh?--is the sergeant a great man among ye here?"