"Your last word!--ay, you will always have the last word," cried Colonel Sutherland, this time indeed hearing imperfectly; "there must be some mistake, I suppose. Never mind, we'll inquire into it later. You must see me again, sergeant--I am going now to my young people. Good morning to you, my friend--ask for me here to-morrow." "Are the young gentlemen in these parts, Cornel?" said Kennedy, rising with a little reluctance; "I said to mysel' the Cornel behooved to have his own occasions here." "Not my boys--my niece and nephew, people you never heard of," said the Colonel, quickly. "Now, my man, good morning--I am pushed for time--you'll come again to-morrow." Thus urged, Kennedy had no resource but to obey, which he did, however, very slowly, running over in his mind immediately all the "gentlemens' families" of the district, with which he had any acquaintance, in a vain endeavour to ascertain who could be the niece and nephew of his "old Cornel." Kennedy, as it happened, had not been at his usual post in the public room of the little inn on the previous night, and had consequently no intimation of any dawn of new fortune on Mr. Horry, whom he knew perfectly well, and at whose hands he had suffered contradiction enough to give him some interest in the young man's fate. This information, however, he would have been pretty sure to receive, but that Colonel Sutherland had already sent for the landlady to give her his orders for the day. The Colonel was extremely frugal, almost parsimonious so far as his own manner of living was concerned, but having set himself to devise some pleasure for poor Susan, shut up all her life in Marchmain, the extremest liberality which the circumstances would allow, was not too much for his inclinations. The only vehicle possessed by the little inn at Tillington was a double gig, a very homely conveyance, which the Colonel had already ordered, and in which he proposed to take Susan "somewhere," bringing her back to lunch with him. The kind old man entered into the most minute directions about this lunch. He put elaborate leading questions, in order to ascertain what the cuisine was capable of, and consulted over puddings and tarts with the zeal of a connoisseur. A sentimental French _chef_ who would have entered into the sentiment of the occasion, would have delighted the Colonel. He wanted a dainty meal of pretty little dishes, sweet and savoury, as much in honour of Susan, as to please her youthful palate, and endeavoured so earnestly to impress his wishes upon the homely innkeeper, that the idea of some secret grandeur belonging to Mr. Horry and his sister impressed itself more and more deeply upon that good woman's mind. She promised to do her very best; with the greatest awe and impressment she left the innocent and too trustful Colonel to study her cookery-book with devotion, and to conceive impossible triumphs of culinary art. But art, even in the kitchen, avenges itself upon those who neglect it.