"The door was open this very day, master," said Peggy, when she recovered her surprise; "I judge you wur lookin' with your own eyes what like it was; but the good of a spare bedroom in this house I would wish a wise woman to tell to me." Mr. Scarsdale made no response, but delivered himself of his further intelligence as though he heard her not. "I wish it to be put in order," he said, briefly; "Colonel Sutherland arrives here on a visit, to-morrow." Even Horace was moved to a momentary start and look of surprise at his father's immovable countenance, while Susan clasped her hands in spite of herself, and cried--"Oh! papa, is it my uncle?" with the most eager and joyful anxiety suddenly suffusing her face. But Susan's voice was drowned in Peggy's more decided accents. "Master Edward!" cried Peggy, with a restrained shout of triumph--"blessings on his honest face! he never crossed a door but he brought comfort--and as handsome a man as eye could see, and the pleasantest gentleman to speak to that ever said good-morrow. So he's Cornel now!--and well deserves it, I'll be bold to say. Custard, master?--as light as a May breeze--and the very tarts you had in holiday times, when you were a boy. I had a thought of old times, and knew no reason--to be sure, it was for a forewarning of the news!" Mr. Scarsdale thrust the china dish containing the tarts out of his way with an unusual expression of impatience. Then, recollecting himself, took it up and turned to Horace--that is to say, turned his head to him, without turning his eyes, as was his custom. "May I have the pleasure of helping you?" said the father, with a tone of suppressed bitterness. Horace put forth his plate immediately; Peggy's harmless confectionery was evidently vexatious and annoying to Mr. Scarsdale, and his son took pains to express his enjoyment of it, and compliment Peggy on her handiwork. It was as rare an event to hear Horace's voice at dinner as his father's. The approaching event seemed to have loosed the tongues of both.