pleasure; wife and many children had been left behind in Indian graves, but he had a boy at Addiscombe, and one at St. Andrew's, and consequently not a shilling of his income to spare; so he placed his carpet bag carefully below the seat out of the reach of rain, and tied a travelling-cap over his ears, and muffled his cloak half over his face, and so turned his face to the wind for his chilly journey to Lanwoth Moor. "Ay, sure the wind's in the east--it's ever in the east on this road," said the man who drove him. "When it's could as could all the country over, it's double could Lanwoth way. Beg your pardon, Cornel," said the man, touching his cap, "but it's strange for a gen'l'man to goo this gate in ought but a shay." "That is my business, my man," said the traveller, quietly; "is it a good road?" "Bits," said the postboy, shrugging his shoulders; "and bits the very dyeuce for the poor beasts; but we never goo this direction, Cornel, not twicest in a year--not all the way. There's Tillington, five mile this side o' Lanwoth, but the road strikes off to the reet--Lord blees you, gen'l'men know better nor to build on a moorside. The wind comes down off the fells fit to pull your skin off, Cornel; and ne'er a shelter, and ne'er a tree, but bits o' saplings in the moss. Rain and snow and hail, they sweep a' things before them. I'd never set a brute beast, let alone a christian, with its nose to Lanwoth Moor." "Yet somebody must live there," said the traveller, shivering in spite of himself within his cloak. "Not a soul, Cornel, but the one house," said the driver, eagerly; "not a thatch roof or a clay wall--nought but Marchmain. They say it was built at the riding of the Marches, that's once in the hunderd year, and a' foor strife, foor to part the lands of the twae Allonbys, brothers and foes as should never be seen in God's world. But sure there it stands, black as hate, and----"--the man made a sudden pause, and looked suddenly up in the old officer's face--"Cornel, you're gooing there?" "Do you know me, driver?" said Colonel Sutherland, with a little curiosity. The man held down his head with a sly, half-abashed smile, not quite sure whether to pretend knowledge or to confess that he acquired his information from the card on the carpet bag. The result of his deliberations was an equivocal reply. "I know an army gen'l'man when I see him, sir," he said, raising his slouching rustic shoulders, and quickening his speech out of its Cumbrian drawl. "My father was an ould 53d, and Cornel Toppe Sawyer's own man; and, begging your pardon, Cornel, a blind man could see you had borne command."