iving the lists of the killed
and wounded. I saw that the regiment had not been in the thick of
it, as the lists contained none of your names. I would have given a
limb to have taken part in that wonderful battle. When you get as
old as I am, my boy, you will feel a pride in telling how you
fought at Narva, and helped to destroy an entire Russian army with
the odds ten to one against you.

"Of course, you will stay here with me. I suppose you have leave at
present?"

"Yes, father, Colonel Jamieson told me that my first duty was to
get strong and well again, and that I was to think of no other
until I had performed that. And how have you been getting on,
father?"

"Very well, lad. I don't pretend that it is not a great change from
Lynnwood, but I get along very well, and thank heaven, daily, that
for so many years I had set aside a portion of my rents, little
thinking that the time would come when they would prove my means of
existence. My friends here have invested the money for me, and it
bears good interest, which is punctually paid. With the English and
Scotch exiles, I have as much society as I care for, and as I find
I am able to keep a horse--for living here is not more than half
the cost that it would be in England--I am well enough contented
with my lot.

"There is but one thing that pricks me. That villain John Dormay
has, as he schemed for, obtained possession of my estates, and has
been knighted for his distinguished services to the king. I heard
of this some time since, by a letter from one of our Jacobite
friends to whom I wrote, asking for news. He says that the new
knight has no great cause for enjoyment in his dignity and
possessions, because, not only do the Jacobite gentry turn their
backs upon him, when they meet him in the town, but the better
class of Whigs hold altogether aloof from him, regarding his
elevation, at the expense of his wife's kinsman, to be disgraceful,
although of course they have no idea of the evil plot by which he
brought about my ruin. There is great pity expressed for his wife,
who has not once stirred beyond the grounds at Lynnwood since he
took her there, and who is, they say, a shadow of her former self.
Ciceley, he hears, is well. That cub of a son is in London, and
there are reports that he is very wild, and puts his father to much
cost. As to the man himself, they say he is surrounded by the
lowest knaves, and it is rumoured that he has taken to drink for
want of