Weary of the dark and sallow Spaniards, Quentin's eyes had run along the ranks of the 25th, and their familiar faces, which seemed so fair and ruddy when contrasted with those of the nations they had come to free, were pleasant to look upon. Their colours, with the castle triple-towered and the city motto; the familiar bugle calls, and more than all, the old quick-step of General Leslie, which came floating rearward from time to time when the corps traversed an eminence, all spake to him of his new but moveable home, and the new associations he had learned to love. Cosmo--the impracticable and inscrutable--Cosmo Crawford--alone was the feature there that marred his prospects and blighted his pleasure! He felt a sincere regret for poor Isidora, and this was not unmingled with a little selfish dread of her brother, De Saldos, the scowling Trevino, and others, when those guerillas joined the division, which they would probably do in the course of a day or so; and what answer would he make to them when they--and chiefly her brother--asked for the missing donna? He felt himself, indeed, between the horns of a dilemma, and many unpleasant forebodings mingled with his dreams of a brilliant future. Amid these ideas recurred the longing to write home (how long, long seemed the time that had elapsed since he left it!) that the good Lord Rohallion and the gentle Lady Winifred--that dear Flora, and the old quartermaster too, might learn something of what he had seen, and done, and undergone since last they parted. Had Cosmo, in any of his letters, ever written to announce that he was serving with the Borderers? This was a question Quentin had frequently asked of himself, and he felt certain that the colonel had not done so, as in the other instance, and unless he had been cruelly misrepresented, Lord Rohallion or worthy John Girvan, and his old mentor the quaint dominie, would assuredly have written to him long since. Thus it was evident that in his correspondence with those at home in Carrick, the haughty Master had totally ignored his name. Quentin's passion for Flora Warrender was a boyish devotion that mingled with all his love and all his memories of home. She was still a guiding star to his heart and hopes, the impulse of every thought, the mainspring of every act and deed; and thus Quentin felt that while this dear girl at home loved him--as sister, friend, and sweetheart all combined, the spiteful hauteur of Cosmo was innocuous and pointless indeed.