you. Oh! I _shall_ scream!"

Peggy's threat was uttered in so loud a stage whisper, that Margaret
looked up in alarm, fearing that the gentleman must have heard. She met
a glance so kind, so twinkling with sympathetic merriment, that she
smiled in spite of herself.

The gentleman lifted his hat, instantly, and stepped forward. He was not
tall, but broad and muscular, with keen, dark eyes that sparkled under
shaggy white eyebrows; a most vigorous, positive-looking old gentleman.

"A thousand pardons!" he said, in a deep, gruff voice which was the very
essence of heartiness. "You also are getting off at Merryweather, young
ladies? I beg the privilege of assisting you with your parcels; I
insist upon it! Permit me, madam!" and he took possession of Margaret's
travelling-bag, Margaret blushing and protesting, while Peggy's blue
eyes grew to absolute circles, and her little mouth opened to another.

"You are very kind!" said Margaret. "Indeed, I can carry it
perfectly--thank you so very much! Yes, we are going to Mr.
Merryweather's camp. Do you know--"

"Harry Monmouth!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "Astonishing! Going there
myself. Permit me to introduce myself--Colonel Ferrers, at your
service."

He lifted his hat again, and bowed low.

"Our name is Montfort," said Margaret timidly, attracted and yet alarmed
by his explosive utterance, so different from the quiet speech of the
Montfort men.

"Not John's daughters!" cried the Colonel. "I'll be shot if you are
John's daughters!"

"Oh! no," cried Margaret, her eyes lightening. "Not his daughters, but
his nieces. Do you know Uncle John, Colonel Ferrers?"

"Know John Montfort? know the nose on my face? not that there is any
resemblance; fine-looking man. I have known John Montfort, my dear young
ladies, ever since he was in petticoats. John, Dick, Jim, Roger--fine
lads! used to stay at Roseholme--my place in Dutchess County--forty
years ago. School-boys when I was in college. All over the place,
climbing, hunting, fishing, falling off the roofs--great boys! haven't
heard of them for twenty years. Where are they now? all living, I--eh,
what?"

"My father, Roger Montfort, is dead," said Margaret, softly; "so is
Uncle Richard. Uncle John and Uncle James are living, Colonel Ferrers;
this is Uncle James's daughter. Peggy dear, Colonel Ferrers! and I live
with Uncle John at Fernley House. Oh! how delightful to meet some one
who knows Uncle John!"

"Pleasure is mine,