"From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve."

The Colonel was a short compact man, inclined to be stout--with a very
red face, that seemed not only shaved, but rasped. He wore his hair
cropped close, except just in front where it formed what the
hair-dresser called a feather; but it seemed a feather of iron, so stiff
and so strong was it. Firmness and precision were emphatically marked on
the Colonel's countenance. There was a resolute strain on his features,
as if he was always employed in making the two ends meet!

So he sat before his house-book, with his steel pen in his hand, and
making crosses here and notes of interrogation there. "Mrs.
M'Catchley's maid," said the Colonel to himself, "must be put upon
rations. The tea that she drinks! Good Heavens!--tea again!"

There was a modest ring at the outer door. "Too early for a visitor!"
thought the Colonel. "Perhaps it is the Water-rates."

The neat man-servant--never seen, beyond the offices, save in _grande
tenue_, plushed and powdered--entered, and bowed.

"A gentleman, sir, wishes to see you."

"A gentleman," repeated the Colonel, glancing toward the clock. "Are you
sure it is a gentleman?"

The man hesitated. "Why, sir, I ben't exactly sure; but he speaks like a
gentleman. He do say he comes from London to see you, sir."

A long and interesting correspondence was then being held between the
Colonel and one of his wife's trustees, touching the investment of Mrs.
Pompley's fortune. It might be the trustee--nay, it must be. The trustee
had talked of running down to see him.

"Let him come in," said the Colonel; "and when I ring--sandwiches and
sherry."

"Beef, sir?"

"Ham."

The Colonel put aside his house-book, and wiped his pen.

In another minute the door opened, and the servant announced--"MR.
DIGBY."

The Colonel's face fell, and he staggered back.

The door closed, and Mr. Digby stood in the middle of the room, leaning
on the great writing-table for support. The poor soldier looked sicklier
and shabbier, and nearer the end of all things in life and fortune, than
when Lord L'Estrange had thrust the pocket-book into his hands. But
still the servant showed knowledge of the world in calling him
gentleman; there was no other word to apply to him.

"Sir," began Colonel Pompley, recovering himself, and with great
solemnity, "I did not expect this pleasure."

The poor visitor stared round him dizzily, and sank into a chair,
breathing hard. The C