This last address was unanswerable. The Colonel closed his lips with a sigh. As for his own influence, from which he at one time hoped a good deal, he found it conclude in a courteous letter and a ready promise. The Colonel was extremely discomfited and discouraged; for the first time in his life he repented of kindness. Had he, after all, "raised expectations which could never be realized?" The matter gave him a great deal more pain than Sir John could have thought possible. _He_, with all the carelessness of a man who has commonly found the world go well with him, put this affair aside lightly. Why should anything happen to disconcert their plans? As soon as the boy should turn up he was ready and eager to help him. He had no apprehension of any romantic _contretemps_, such as the Colonel feared; such things only occurred in very rare cases. What harm could it do to wait? Thus still another week passed on. A month after hearing from Roger, Colonel Sutherland found another letter on his breakfast table; it was dated "Ship 'Prince Regent,' in the Downs, March 21st." With a gasp of excitement the Colonel ran his eyes over it, and then thrust it into the hand of Sir John, who was calmly eating his breakfast. The baronet started, read it over, jumped from his seat, and called for his man in a voice of thunder. Then he flew to a writing-table which stood in one corner, wrote something hurriedly in gigantic characters, shouting aloud at the end of every word for "Summers! Summers!" Summers made his appearance hastily, amazed and fluttered by the imperative demand. "Fly!--horseback, railway, anything that's quickest--telegraph-office, Edinburgh! To be sent this instant; return directly; here's your money; I tell you, fly!" cried the excited baronet. Summers made an astonished bow, looked at the paper, and demanded where? His master took him by the shoulders and thrust him out of the door, following him through the rain along the garden, and shouting, "Telegraph-office, Edinburgh!" in his ear, with sundry stimulating expletives. Then Sir John returned much more slowly. He found the Colonel marching about the room, very grave, and very much excited. "It's not your fault, old fellow," said the baronet, hastily "bolting," to use his own expression, the remainder of his breakfast; "here's the man that's to blame; come down upon _me_, it'll do you good. I don't give this up yet. How's the wind? Dead south-west for a miracle--can't go a step down the Channel in a sou'-wester! Come along--put up your traps, brighten your grave face, and let's be off by the first train!" "We'll be too late!" said the Colonel, whose mortification and distress were great.