"Oh, yes, I've heard the like," said Colonel Sutherland, smiling; "and as it was sure to happen some time, Janet, do you not think it's as well soon as syne?" "Weel, Cornel, that's true," said Janet, going out with grave perplexity to open the little garden gate for him. Janet was more shocked in her propriety than her mistress, and did not find it nearly so easy to reconcile herself to the strange event. Then the Colonel proceeded homeward in the same leisurely fashion. The day had overcast, the breeze had freshened, the sea rushed with a louder fling upon the sand, and made a sharper report at the height of each successive wave. Rain was coming on, and Colonel Sutherland quickened his footsteps. When he had reached as far as the wayside village of Joppa (Joppie in the vernacular), it was necessary to take shelter till the shower was over. While he stood waiting, with his deaf ear attentive to the entreaty of the good woman at whose porch he stood, to come in and rest, a post-chaise went rapidly past. Glancing out from it, with the momentary glance of a wayfarer, appeared a face which the Colonel recognized without being able to tell who it was; a yellow face, querulous but kindly--a fastidious, inquisitive pair of eyes. Beside the driver on the box was a man with a cockade on his hat, with whose face, too, the Colonel found himself strangely familiar. Who could it be? He watched the vehicle till it was out of sight, persuading himself that it had taken the road to Inveresk, and followed it as soon as the rain was over, without knowing who his visitors might be, but in the fullest expectation of finding somebody arrived before him at Milnehill. CHAPTER XII. "Somebody has arrived!--who is it?" asked the Colonel of his factotum, who opened to him the garden-door--that door in the wall which admitted you suddenly into all the verdure of the garden of Milnehill. "Cornel, you're a warlock!" exclaimed the man, with amazement. "This very moment, sir, two carpet-bags and a portmanteau. I reckon they're meaning to stay." "They--who are they?--is there more than one?" asked the Colonel; "make haste! do you see you keep me in the wet, blocking up the door?" "The rain's off," said Patchey, dogmatically; "I'm meaning to say there's wan gentleman, and his man, of course--his man. That's maybe no interesting to you, Cornel--but it is to me." "You provoking old rascal!--who is it?" said the Colonel. Patchey scratched his head. "If you'll believe me, Cornel, I cannot think upon the name. It's no Arnot--no, that's not it; nor Titchfield neither. I ken him as weel as I ken mysel', Cornel--dash me if ever I thought of asking him his name! Arnold--na--tuts! he was in the Queen's service, this gentleman, up Burmah ways, when there was warm work gaun on; but, bless me, what whimsy's ta'en the Cornel by the head noo?"