t-colored hair and frizzly whiskers framed
his large, thick-featured face, and wearing no mustache, he showed the
clumsy sneer of a wide, coarse mouth. I watched him with all my eyes,
because of his tone of authority about myself. He might even be my
guardian or my father's nearest relation--though he seemed to be too
ill-bred for that.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel," he went on, in a patronizing tone,
such as he had assumed throughout. "Here it is. Now prick your ears up,
and see if these candid remarks apply. I am reading from a printed form,
you see:

"'George Castlewood is forty-eight years old, but looks perhaps ten
years older. His height is over six feet two, and he does not stoop or
slouch at all. His hair is long and abundant, but white; his eyes are
dark, piercing, and gloomy. His features are fine, and of Italian cast,
but stern, morose, and forbidding, and he never uses razor. On the back
of his left hand, near the wrist, there is a broad scar. He dresses in
half-mourning always, and never wears any jewelry, but strictly shuns
all society, and prefers uncivilized regions. He never stays long in
any town, and follows no occupation, though his aspect and carriage are
military, as he has been a cavalry officer. From time to time he has
been heard of in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and is now believed to be in
America.

"'His only surviving child, a girl of about fifteen, has been seen with
him. She is tall and slight and very straight, and speaks French better
than English. Her hair is very nearly black, and her eyes of unusual
size and lustre. She is shy, and appears to have been kept under, and
she has a timid smile. Whether she knows of her father's crime or not is
quite uncertain; but she follows him like a dog almost.'

"There now, Colonel," cried the Englishman, as he folded the paper
triumphantly; "most of that came from my information, though I never set
eyes upon the child. Does the cap fit or not, Brother Jonathan?"

Mr. Gundry was leaning back in his own corner, with a favorite pipe,
carved by himself, reposing on his waistcoat. And being thus appealed
to, he looked up and rubbed his eyes as if he had been dozing, though
he never had been more wide awake, as I, who knew his attitudes, could
tell. And my eyes filled with tears of love and shame, for I knew by the
mere turn of his chin that he never would surrender me.

"Stranger," he said, in a most provoking drawl, "a hard day's work
tells