At these word, Waife understands all, and he has not an argument in reply; and he suffers Sophy to lead him towards the house. Yes, they will go hence--yes, there shall be no schemes of marriage! They had nearly reached the door, when the door itself opened violently, and a man rushing forth caught Sophy in his arms, and kissed her forehead, her cheek, with a heartiness that it is well Lionel did not witness! Speechless and breathless with resentwent, Sophy struggled, and in vain, when Waife, seizing the man by the collar, swung him away with a "How dare you, sir," that was echoed back from the hillocks--summoned Sir Isaac at full gallop from the lake--scared Fairthorn back to his buttresses--roused Mrs. Morley from her sketch, and, smiting the ears of Lionel and Darrell, hurried them, mechanically as it were, to the very spot from which that thunder-roll had pealed. "How dare I?" said the man, resettling the flow of his disordered coat--" How dare I kiss my own niece?--my own sister's orphan child? Venerable Bandit, I have a much better right than you have. Oh, my dear injured Sophy, to think that I was ashamed of your poor cotton print-- to think that to your pretty face I have been owing fame and fortune--and you, you wandering over the world--child of the sister of whose beauty I was so proud--of her for whom, alas, in vain! I painted Watteaus and Greuzes upon screens and fans!" Again he clasped her to his breast; and Waife this time stood mute, and Sophy passive--for the man's tears were raining upon her face, and washed away every blush of shame as to the kiss they hallowed. "But where is my old friend William Losely?--where is Willy?" said another voice, as a tall, thin personage stepped out from the hall, and looked poor Waife unconsciously in the face. "Alban Morley!" faltered Waife, "you are but little changed!" The Colonel looked again, and in the elderly, lame, oneeyed, sober- looking man, recognised the wild jovial Willy, who had tamed the most unruly fillies, taken the most frantic leaps, carolled forth the blithest song-madcap, good-fellow, frolicsome, childlike darling of gay and grave, young and old! "'Eheu, fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni,'" said the Colonel, insensibly imbibing one of those Horatian particles that were ever floating in that classic atmosphere--to Darrell medicinal, to Fairthorn morbific. "Years slide away, Willy, mutely as birds skim through air; but when friend meets with friend after absence, each sees the print of their crows' feet on the face of the other. But we are not too old yet, Willy, for many a meet at the fireside! Nothing else in our studs, we can still mount our hobbies; and thoroughbred hobbies contrive to be in at the death.