"A fresh cooper of wine to drink the health of Roland Ruthven," exclaimed the President, who, though a young sub, had seen powder burned with the Royals in Burmah. "Welcome back to the Guards of Pontius Pilate!" He had not been very long absent, but after all he had undergone at Ardgowrie it was a relief to Roland to hear the old "shop" talk again--the old regimental jokes and news, who was for guard to-morrow, who was on detachment; a moose-hunting party bound for the shore of the St. Lawrence; how the last time "the Darnel's phaeton was tooled by Logan, the horses "come home with devil a thing but the splinter bar at their heels; the expected "row" with the colonists; the ball or race that was coming off; the buttons of this corps, the facings or epaulettes of that corps, and so forth. His old chum, Hector Logan, a tall and very handsome fellow, and some others, could see by the deepened lines between Roland's dark eyebrows, that something even more than his father's death affected him; and also, that his old flow of brilliant conversation was gone. They could detect that "something was wrong--a screw loose somewhere," but could not conceive what it was. Ere he rejoined he had commissioned Logan to sell his horses--even to Royal Scot, with whom he was wont to ride over the raspers everywhere; to withdraw his name from several races and subscription lists; and he had every way curtailed his expenses--shorn down everything to the great surprise of more than one heedless young fellow, and of the mess in general. "What the deuce does it all mean?" they asked of one another. "What is up, Ruthven?" asked Logan seriously; "is there anything wrong? Your father dies, leaving you a fine old estate totally unencumbered--a deuced deal more than we can say for many old estates--and you sell off your horses, dogs, and so forth----" "How do you know it is unencumbered?" asked Roland, with some sharpness of manner. "It is loaded--heavily loaded, indeed!" he added, bitterly, as he thought of the long-hidden _will_. "Are you going in for a new excitement--that of being poor?" "Oh, Hector, you don't know who it is you chaff! Are the Darnels in Montreal?" he asked, after a pause. "Yes;" I saw la belle Aurelia yesterday in busy Paul Street, close to the Hôtel-Dieu; I knew her at once by the long glossy ringlet, the _suivez-moi_--come-follow-me-lads--that hung down her back." "How your tongue runs on, Hector!" "Pardon me; I forgot that you were hit in that quarter." "Positively, Hector, I'll punch your head." "A fellow always makes a fool of himself about some girl or woman at some time, and it is your case now, though I must admit that Aurelia Darnel is one of the most attractive girls I have seen, and does credit to your taste, Roland. Now that you are Laird of Ardgowrie you'll make great running in that quarter." "Aurelia is too rich to care a straw even about Ardgowrie." "I don't know that, Ruthven."