"These fox-hunting fools are beginning their work betimes--why, this is only October," said his lordship, drily; "they would be better employed riding in the light dragoons against the enemies of Europe." Pushing the rest of the letters across the table to Lady Rohallion, as if for perusal at her leisure, he opened the latest newspaper, and betook himself, with true military instinct, to the gazette and matters pertaining to the war against France and the Corsican, by land and sea. Erelong, it was with an exclamation of astonishment that shook the powder from his venerable pigtail, that made Lady Rohallion permit the urn to overrun her teacup, Flora to start nervously, Mr. Spillsby to drop the egg-stand with its contents, and Jack Andrews to spring mechanically to "attention" on his lame leg, that his lordship, raising his voice to an unusually high pitch, read the following paragraph:-- "On the 6th October, the final despatch of the premier reached the general commanding at Lisbon, and by this time the whole army will have been in motion across the Spanish frontier, to chastise the barbarian hordes of the Corsican tyrant, under whose sway the people of France and Spain alike are groaning. We rejoice to say that before marching from Portalegre, Lieutenant-General Sir John Hope of Rankeillour most successfully opened a communication with the famous guerilla, El Estudiente, a matter fully and finally arranged by the skill and courage of Mr. Quentin Kennedy, a young volunteer, then serving with H.M. 25th Regiment, or 'King's Own Borderers.'" "Quentin!" exclaimed Flora, rushing behind Lord Rohallion's chair, her cheeks flushing red, as she peeped over his shoulder. "Quentin Kennedy!" said Lady Rohallion, in a breathless voice, as she grew pale and trembled. "The boy is found--found at last! There, read the paragraph for yourselves," said his lordship, flourishing the paper over his head. Poor Lady Rohallion made many ineffectual efforts to do as he bid her; but her eyes were full of tears, and her spectacles were quite obscured. "Spillsby--Andrews, send for John Girvan: zounds! the 25th, too--the blessed old number!--here's news for him! The lost is found again! You'll write him, Winny--and Flora, too--gad, we'll all write!" continued the old Lord, in a very incoherent way. "The cunning rogue, to keep us in suspense so long, and to be wearing the buttons of the old Borderers all the time. It must be he: there can't be two Quentin Kennedies; oh, no--of course it must be he!" "There is something strange in this," said Lady Rohallion, finding relief in tears; "how many letters, Flora, have we had from Cosmo since he left us?" "Five." "Five letters!" "One from Colchester; others from Santarem and Abrantes; and two from Portalegre."