u, Mr. What's-your-name," says the
Colonel.

Up to the hall I went, slow-footed. There they were, all three--my old
lord in his place, Mrs. Henry at work by the window, Mr. Henry (as was
much his custom) pacing the low end. In the midst was the table laid for
supper. I told them briefly what I had to say. My old lord lay back in
his seat. Mrs. Henry sprang up standing with a mechanical motion, and
she and her husband stared at each other's eyes across the room; it was
the strangest, challenging look these two exchanged, and as they looked,
the colour faded in their faces. Then Mr. Henry turned to me; not to
speak, only to sign with his finger; but that was enough, and I went
down again for the Colonel.

When we returned, these three were in much the same position I had left
them in; I believe no word had passed.

"My Lord Durrisdeer, no doubt?" says the Colonel, bowing, and my lord
bowed in answer. "And this," continues the Colonel, "should be the
Master of Ballantrae?"

"I have never taken that name," said Mr. Henry; "but I am Henry Durie,
at your service."

Then the Colonel turns to Mrs. Henry, bowing with his hat upon his heart
and the most killing airs of gallantry. "There can be no mistake about
so fine a figure of a lady," says he. "I address the seductive Miss
Alison, of whom I have so often heard?"

Once more husband and wife exchanged a look.

"I am Mrs. Henry Durie," said she; "but before my marriage my name was
Alison Graeme."

Then my lord spoke up. "I am an old man, Colonel Burke," said he, "and a
frail one. It will be mercy on your part to be expeditious. Do you
bring me news of----" he hesitated, and then the words broke from him
with a singular change of voice--"my son?"

"My dear lord, I will be round with you like a soldier," said the
Colonel. "I do."

My lord held out a wavering hand; he seemed to wave a signal, but
whether it was to give him time or to speak on, was more than we could
guess. At length he got out the one word, "Good?"

"Why, the very best in the creation!" cries the Colonel. "For my good
friend and admired comrade is at this hour in the fine city of Paris,
and as like as not, if I know anything of his habits, he will be drawing
in his chair to a piece of dinner.--Bedad, I believe the lady's
fainting."

Mrs. Henry was indeed the colour of death, and drooped against the
window-frame. But when Mr. Henry made a movement as if to run to her,
she straightened with a sort of