It was difficult to
recognize in the dashing looking young officer and the stalwart
trooper the lads who but two years and a half before had ridden
away posthaste from the Chace. Hugh was driven off to the farm; and
Rupert remained alone with his mother and the colonel, who
overwhelmed him with questions.
The colonel had changed but little, and bid fair to live to a great
age. His eye was bright, and his bearing still erect. He scarcely
looked sixty-five, although he was more than ten years older.
Mistress Dorothy was, Rupert thought, softer and kinder than of
old. Her pride, and to some extent her heart, had met with a rude
shock, but her eyes were now fully open to the worthlessness of her
former suitor, who had lately been obliged to fly the country,
having been detected at cheating at cards.
Colonel Holliday rejoiced when he heard of the pipe of prime
Burgundy, which started from London on the day Rupert left; while
Mistress Dorothy was enchanted with the stomacher, which her son
produced from his trunk.
"Have you ever heard from Monsieur Dessin, grandfather? You told me
that he said he would write and tell you his real name."
"I doubt not that he did so, Rupert; but the carriage of letters
between this and France is precarious. Only smugglers or such like
bring them over, and these, except when specially paid, care but
little for the trouble. That he wrote I am certain, but his letter
has not reached me, which I regret much.
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