19 Isidore Hummel is asked to lunch. On the following morning, the morning of Monday the second of September, Isidore Hummel started on his journey. He had thought much about the journey before he made it. No doubt the door had been slammed in his face in London. He felt quite conscious of that, and conscious also that a man should not renew his attempt to enter a door when it has once been slammed in his face. But he understood the circumstances nearly as they had happened, except that he was not aware how far the door had been slammed by Lady Tringle without any concurrence on the part of Sir Thomas. But the door had, at any rate, not been slammed by Lucy. The only person he had really wished to see within that house had been Lucy Dorma, and he had hitherto no reason for supposing that she would be unwilling to receive him. Her face had been sweet and gracious when she saw him in the park. Was he to deny himself all hope of any future intercourse with her, because Lady Tringle had chosen to despise him? He must make some attempt. It was more than probable, no doubt, that his attempt would be futile. The servant at Glen Bogey would probably be as well instructed as the servant in Queensgate. But still a man has to go on and do something if he means to do anything. There could be no good in sitting up a drum-caller at one side of the lake, and thinking of Lucy Dorma far away at the other side. He had not at all made up his mind that he would ask Lucy to be his wife. His professional income was still poor, and she, as he was aware, had nothing. But he felt it to be incumbent upon him to get nearer to her if it were possible, and to say something to her if the privilege of speech should be accorded to him. He walked down to Caller-Foot, refusing the loan of the Colonel's pony carriage, and thence had himself carried across the lake in a hired boat to a place called Sandy's Key. That, he was assured, was the spot on the other side, from whence the nearest road would be found to Glen Bogey. But nobody on the Caller-Foot side could tell him what would be the distance. At Sandy's Key he was assured that it was twelve miles to Glen Bogey House, but he soon found that the man who told him had a pony for hire. He'll need get there under twelve mile, or maybe sixteen if he attempt to walk up the Glen. So said the owner of the pony. But milder information came to him speedily. A little boy would show him the way up the Glen for sixpence, and engage to bring him to the house in an hour and a half. So he started with the little boy, and after a hot scramble for about two hours he found himself within the demean. Poking their way up through the thick bushes from a ravine they showed their two heads, first the boy and then the sculptor, close by the side of the private road, just as Sir Thomas was passing Mount Adonis Cobb. It's his ear and cell, said the boy, dropping his head again amongst the bushes. Hummel, when he had made good his footing, had first to turn around so that the lad might not lose his wages.  It was well known in the neighbourhood, especially at Sandy's Key, where boats were used to land, that Sir Thomas was not partial to visitors who made their way into Glen Bogey by any but the authorised road. While Hummel was paying his debt, he stood still on his steed, waiting to see who might be the trespasser. "'That's not a high road,' said Sir Thomas, as the young man approached him. As the last quarter of an hour from the bottom of the ravine had been occupied in very stiff climbing among the rocks, the information conveyed appeared to Hummel to have been almost unnecessary. Your way up to the house, if you're going there, could have been through the lodge down there. Perhaps you are Sir Thomas Tringle,' said Hummel. "'That is my name.' "'Then I have to ask your pardon for my mode of ingress. I am going up to the house, but having crossed the lake from Caller-Foot, I did not know my way on this side, so I have clambered up the ravine.' Sir Thomas bowed and then waited for further tidings. I believe Miss Dormer is at the house. My niece is there. My name is Hummel, Isidore Hummel. I am a sculptor, and used to be acquainted with her father. I have had great kindness from the whole family, and I was going to call upon her. If you do not object, I will go on to the house.' Sir Thomas sat upon his horse speechless for a minute. He had to consider whether he did object or not. He was well aware that his wife objected, aware also that he had declined to go inside with his wife's objection when it had been pressed upon him. Why should not his niece have the advantage of a lover if a proper sort of a lover came in her way? As to the father's morals or the son's birth, those matters to Sir Thomas were nothing. The young man he was told was good at making busts. Would any one buy the busts when they were made? That was the question. His wife would certainly be prejudiced, would think it necessary to reject for Lucy any suitor she would reject for her own girls. And then, as Sir Thomas felt, she had not shown great judgment in selecting suitors for her own girls. "'Oh, Mr. Hummel, are you?' he said at last. "'Is it or Hummel?' "'You called at Queen's Gate once, not long ago?' "'I did,' said Hummel, but saw no one. "'No, you didn't, I heard that. Well, you can go on to the house if you like, but you'd better ask for Lady Tringle, after coming over from Call of Which you'll want some lunch. Stop a moment, I don't mind if I ride back with you. And so the two started toward the house, and Hummel listened while Sir Thomas expatiated on the beauties of Glen Bogey. They had passed through one gate and were approaching another, when away among the trees there was a young lady seen walking alone. "'There is Miss Dorma,' said Hummel, I suppose I may join her. Sir Thomas could not quite make up his mind whether the meeting was to be allowed or not, but he could not bring himself at the spur of the moment to refuse his sanction. So Hummel made his way across to Lucy, while Sir Thomas rode on alone to the house. Lucy had seen her uncle on the cob, and being accustomed to see him on the cob knew, of course, who he was. She had also seen another man with him, but not in the least expecting that Hummel was in these parts had never dreamt that he was her uncle's companion. It was not until Hummel was near to her that she understood that the man was coming to join herself, and then when she did recognize the man she was lost in amazement. "'You hardly expected to see me here,' said he. "'Indeed, no. Nor did I expect that I should find you in this way.' "'My uncle knows it's you,' asked Lucy. "'Oh yes, I met him as I came up from the ravine, and his asked me to go on to the house to lunch. Then there was silence for a few moments as they walked on together. I hope you do not think that I am persecuting you in making my way over here. "'Oh, no, not persecuting.' Lucy, when she heard the sound of what she herself had said, was angry with herself, feeling that she had almost declared him guilty of some wrongdoing in having come thither. Of course I'm glad to see you,' she added, for Papa's sake, but I'm afraid—afraid of what, Miss Dorma? She looked him full in the face as she answered him, collecting her courage to make the declaration which seemed to be necessary. My Aunt Emily does not want you to come. Why should she not want me? That I cannot tell. Perhaps if I did know I should not tell. But it is so. You called at Queen's Gate, and I know that you were not admitted though I was at home. Of course Aunt Emily has the right to choose who shall come. It's not as though I had a house of my own.' But Sir Thomas asked me in. "'Then you had better go in. After what Aunt Emily said, I do not think that you ought to remain with me.' "'Your uncle knows I'm with you,' said Hamill. Then they walked on toward the house together in silence for a while. Do you mean to say, he continued, that because you aren't objects, you are never to see me again?' "'I hope I shall see you again. You were Papa's friend, and I should be so very sorry not to see you again.' "'I suppose,' he said slowly, I can never be more than your Papa's friend. "'You're mine also. I would be more than that.' Then he paused as if waiting for a reply, but she of course had none to make. I would be so much more than that, Lucy.' Still she had no answer to give him. But there comes a time when no answer is as excellent eloquence as any words that can be spoken. Hamill, who had probably not thought much of this, was nevertheless at once informed by his instincts that it was so. "'Oh, Lucy,' he said, if you can love me, say so. "'Mr. Hamill,' she whispered. "'Lucy.' "'Mr. Hamill, I told you about Aunt Emilyne. She will not allow it. I ought not to have let you speak to me like this while I'm staying here. But your uncle knows I'm with you. My aunt does not know. We must go to the house. She expressly desired that I would not speak to you. And will you obey her always?' "'No, not always. I did not say that I should obey her always. Someday, perhaps, I shall do as I think fit myself. And then you will speak to me.' "'Then I will speak to you,' she said, and love me.' "'And love you,' she answered, again, looking him full in the face. But now pray, pray, let us go on.' For he had stopped her a while amidst the trees and had put out his hand as though to take hers, and had opened his arms as though he would embrace her. But she passed on quickly and hardly answered his further questions until they found themselves together in the hall of the house. Then they met Lady Tringle, who was just passing into the room where the lunch was laid, and following her were Augusta Gertrude and the Honourable Septimus traffic. For though Frank Huston had found himself compelled to go at the day named, the Honourable Septimus had contrived to squeeze out another week. Augusta was still not without hope that the paternal hospitality of Glen Bogie might be prolonged until D. M. Earl Park should once again open her portals. Sir Thomas had already passed into the dining-room, having in a gruff voice informed his wife that he had invited Mr. Hummel to come into lunch. "'Mr. Hummel,' she exclaimed. Yes, Mr. Hummel. I could not see the man starving when he had come all this way. I don't know anything against him.' Then he had turned away and had gone into the dining-room, and was now standing with his back to the empty fireplace, determined to take Mr. Hummel's part if any want of courtesy were shown to him. It certainly was hard upon Lady Tringle. She frowned and was going to walk on without any acknowledgement when Lucy timidly went through a form of introduction. "'Aunt Emilyne, this is Mr. Hummel. Uncle Tom met him somewhere in the grounds and has asked him to come to luncheon.' Then Lady Tringle curtsied and made a bow. The curtsy and the bow together were sufficient to have crushed the heart of any young man who had not been comforted and exalted by such words as Isidor had heard from Lucy's lips not five minutes since. "'And love you,' she had said. After that Lady Tringle might curtsy and bow as she would, and he could still live uncrushed. After the curtsy and the bow Lady Tringle passed on. Lucy fell into the rank behind Gertrude, and then Hummel afterwards took his place behind the honourable Septimus. "'If you will sit here, Mr. Hummel,' said Lady Tringle, pointing to a chair, across the table obliquely at the greatest possible distance from that occupied by Lucy. There he was stationed between Mr. Traffic and Sir Thomas, but now in his present frame of mind his position at the table made very little difference to him. The lunch was eaten in grim silence. Sir Thomas was not a man profuse with conversation at his meals, and at this moment was in incline for any words except what he might use in scolding his wife for being uncivil to his guest. Lady Tringle sat with her head erect, hardly opening her mouth sufficiently to allow the food to enter it. It was her purpose to show her displeasure at Mr. Hummel, and she showed it. Augusta took her mother's part, thoroughly despising the two dormagirls and any lover that they might have. Poor Gertrude had on that morning been violently persecuted by a lecture as to Frank Houston's imprecuniosity. Lucy, of course, would not speak. The honourable Septimus was anxious chiefly about his lunch, somewhat anxious also to offend neither the master nor the mistress of Merle Park. Hummel made one or two little efforts to extract answers from Sir Thomas, but soon found that Sir Thomas would prefer to be left in silence. What did it signify to him? He'd done all that he wanted, and much more than he had expected. The rising and getting away from lunch in is always a difficulty, so great a difficulty when there are guests that lunch should never be much a company festival. There is no provision for leaving the table as there is at dinner. But on this occasion Lady Tringle extemporised provision the first moment in which they had all ceased to eat. Mr. Hummel, she said very loudly, would you like some cheese? Mr. Hummel, with a little start, declared that he wanted no cheese. Then, my dears, I think we will all go into my room. Lucy, will you come with me? Upon this the four ladies all went out in procession, but her ladyship was careful that Lucy should go first so that there might be no possibility of escape. Augusta and Gertrude followed her. The minds of all the four were somewhat perturbed, but among the four Lucy's heart was by far the lightest. Are you staying over with stubs at that cottage? asked the honourable Septimus. A very queer fellow is stubs. A very good fellow, said Hummel. I daresay, he hasn't got any shooting. I think not. Not ahead, Glen Tower wouldn't let an acre of shooting over there for any money. This was the Earl of Glen Tower, to whom belonged an enormous tract of country on the other side of the lake. What on earth does he do with himself stuck up on the top of those rocks? He does shoot sometimes, I believe, when Lord Glen Tower is there. That's a poor kind of fun, waiting to be asked for a day, said the honourable Septimus, who rarely waited for anything till he was asked. Does he get any fishing? He catches a few trout sometimes in the tarns above, but I fancy that stubs isn't much devoted to shooting and fishing. And what the devil does he do with himself in such a country as this? Hummel shrugged his shoulders, not caring to say that what with walking, what with reading and writing, his friend could be as happy as the day was long in such a place as Drumcaller. Is he a liberal? A what? asked Hummel. Oh, a liberal! Upon my word I don't know what he is. He is chiefly given to poetry, tobacco and military matters. Then the honourable Septimus turned up his nose in disgust, and ceased his cross-examination as to the character and pursuits of Colonel Jonathan's stubs. Sir Thomas, I am very much obliged to you for your kindness, said Hummel, getting up suddenly. As it's a long way over to Drumcaller I think I'll make a start. I know my way down the Glen and should be sure to miss it by any other route. Perhaps you'll let me go back as I came. Sir Thomas offered him the loan of a horse, but this was refused, and Hummel started on his return journey across the lake. When he had gone a few steps from the portal he turned to look at the house, which contained one whom he now regarded as belonging exclusively to himself. Perhaps he thought that he might catch some final view of Lucy, or not quite thinking it fancied that some such chance might at least be possible, but he saw nothing but the uninteresting facade of the grand mansion. Lucy was employed quite otherwise. She was listening to a lecture in which her aunt was describing to her how very badly Mr. Hummel had behaved in obtruding himself on the shades of Glen Bogey. The lecture was somewhat long, as Aunt Emilyne found it necessary to repeat all the arguments which she had before used as to the miscreant's birth, as to his want of adequate means, and as to the general iniquities of the miscreant's father. All this she repeated more than once with an energy that was quite unusual to her. The flood of her eloquence was so great that Lucy found no moment for an interposing word until all these evils had been denunciated twice and thrice. But then she spoke. Aunt Emilyne, she said, I am engaged to Mr. Hummel now. What? He has asked me to be his wife, and I have promised. And that, after all that I have said to you? Aunt Emilyne, I told you that I should not drop him. I did not bid him come here. Uncle Tom brought him. When I saw him I would have avoided him if I could. I told him he ought not to be here because you did not wish it. And then he answered that my uncle knew that he was with me. Of course, when he told me that he loved me, I could not make him any other answer. Then Aunt Emilyne expressed the magnitude of her indignation simply by silence, and Lucy was left to think of her lover in solitude. And how have you fared on your day's journey? said the Colonel, when Hummel found him still seated on a platform with a book in his hand. Much better than I thought, so Thomas gave me luncheon. And the young lady. The young lady was gracious also, but I am afraid that I cannot carry my praises of the family at Glen Bogey any further. The three Tringle-ladies looked at me as I was sitting at table, as though I certainly had no business in their august society. End CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER XX of I Alice Angel. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. I Alice Angel by Anthony Trollope. CHAPTER XX Stubs Upon Matrimony Before that evening was over, or in the course of the night it might be better said, as the two men sat up late with their pipes, Hummel told his friend the Colonel exactly what had taken place that morning over at Glen Bogey. He went for the purpose, of course, asked the Colonel, for an off chance. I know that well enough. I never heard of a man's walking twelve miles to call upon a young lady merely because he knew her father, and when there is to be a second call within a few weeks the first having not been taken in very good part by the young lady's friends. My inquiring mind told me that there was something more than an old family friendship. Your inquiring mind saw into the truth. And now looks forward to further events. Can she bake and can she brew? I do not doubt that she could if she tried. And can she wash a shirt for a man? Don't suppose, my dear fellow, that I intend to say that your wife will have to wash yours. Washing a shirt as read in the poem from which I am quoting is presumed to be simply emblematic of household duties in general. I take all you say in good part as coming from a friend. I regard Matrimony, said the Colonel, as being altogether the happiest state of life for a man, unless he be engaged to some lovely creature in whom one can have perfect confidence, maybe a thought happier. One can enjoy all the ecstatic mental reflection, all the delights of conceit which come from being loved, that feeling of superiority to all the world around which illumines the bosom of the favoured lover, without having to put one's hand into one's pocket, or having one's pipe put out either morally or physically. The next to this is Matrimony itself, which is the only remedy for that consciousness of disreputable debauchery, a savor of which always clings more or less strongly to unmarried men in our rank of life. The chimes must be heard at midnight, let a young man be ever so well given to the proprieties, and he must have just a touch of the swinge-buckler about him, or he will seem to himself to be deficient in virility. There's no getting out of it until a man marry, but then—well, then—do you know the man whose long-preserved hat is always brushed carefully, whose coat is the pattern of neatness, but still a little threadbare when you look at it? In the colour of whose cheek there is still some touch of juvenility, but whose step is ever heavy, and whose brow is always sad. The seriousness of life has pressed the smiles out of him. He has learned hardly to want anything for himself, but outward decency in the common necessaries of life. Such little personal indulgences, as a common to you and to me, are estranged to him as autolens or diamonds. I do not think I know him. I do well. I have seen him in the regiment. I have met him on the steps of a public office. I have watched him as he entered his Parsonage house. You shall find him coming out of a lawyer's office, where he has sat for the last nine hours, having supported nature with two penny-biscuits. He has always those few thin hairs over his forehead. He has always that well-brushed hat. He has always that load of care on his brow. He is generally thinking whether he shall endeavour to extend his credit with the butcher, or resolve that the supply of meat may be again curtailed without injury to the health of his five daughters.  But is it true? In some cases, of course, it is.  There are, on the other side, the five daughters and the partner of this load of cares. He knows it is well to have the five daughters rather than to live with plenty of beef and mutton, even with the allotments, if you will, and with no one to care whether his body may be wracked in this world or his spirit in the next. I do not say whether the balance of good or evil be on one side or the other, but when a man is going to do a thing he should know what it is he is going to do. The reading of all this, said Hummel, is that if I succeed in marrying Miss Dorma, I must have thin locks and a bad hat and a butcher's bill. Other men do. Some, instead, have balances of their bankers and die worth thirty, forty or fifty thousand pounds to the great consolation of the five daughters. Or a hundred thousand pounds. There is, of course, no end to the amount of thousands which a successful professional man may accumulate. You may be the man. But the question is whether you should not have reasonable ground to suppose yourself the man, before you encumber yourself with the five daughters. It seems to me, said Hummel, that the need of such assurance is cowardly. That is just the question which I am always debating with myself. I also want to rid myself of that swinge-buckler flavour. I feel that for me, like Adam, it is not good that I should be alone. I would feign ask the first girl that I could love well enough to wish to make myself one with her, to be my wife, regardless of hats, butchers and daughters. It's a plucky and a fine thing for a man to feel that he can make his back broad enough for all burdens. But yet what is the good of thinking that you can carry a sack of wheat when you are sure that you have not, in truth, strength to raise it from the ground? Strength will come, said Hummel. Yes, and the bad hat. And worse than the bad hat, the soiled gown, and perhaps with the soiled gown the altered heart, and perhaps with the altered heart an absence of all that tenderness which it is a woman's special right to expect from a man. I should have thought you would have been the last to be so self-difident. To be so thoughtful you mean, said the Colonel. I am unattached now, and having had no special duty for the last three months, I have given myself over to thinking in a nasty, morbid manner. It comes, I daresay, partly from tobacco, but there is comfort in this, that no such reflections falling out of a man's mouth ever had the slightest effect in influencing another man's conduct. Hummel had told his friend with great triumph of his engagement with Lucy Dorma, but the friend did not return the confidence by informing the sculptor that during the whole of this conversation and for many days previous to it his mind had been concerned with the image of Lucy's sister. He was aware that Ayala had been, as it were, turned out from her rich uncle's house and given over to the comparative poverty of Kingsbury Crescent. He himself at the present moment was possessed of what might be considered a comfortable income for a bachelor. He had been accustomed to live almost more than comfortably, but having so lived was aware of himself that he had not adapted himself for straightened circumstances. In spite of that advice of his as to the brewing, baking, and washing capabilities of a female candidate for marriage, he knew himself well enough to be aware that a wife red with a face from a kitchen fire would be distasteful to him. He had often told himself that to look for a woman with money would be still more distasteful. Therefore he had thought that for the present at least it would be well for him to remain as he was. But now he had come across Ayala, and though in the pursuance of his philosophy he had assured himself that Ayala should be nothing to him, yet he found himself so often reverting to this resolution that Ayala, instead of being nothing, was very much indeed to him. Three days after this Hummel was preparing himself for his departure immediately after breakfast. What a beast you are to go, said the Colonel, when there can be no possible reason for your going. The five daughters and the bad hat make it necessary that a fellow should do a little work sometimes. Why can't you make your images down here? With you for a model and mud out of the caller for clay. I shouldn't have the slightest objection. In your art you cannot perpetrate the atrocity of my color as the fellow did who painted my portrait last winter. If you will go, go, and make busts at unheard-of prices so that the five daughters may live forever on the fat of the land. Can I do any good for you by going over to Glen Bogey? If you could snub that Mr. Traffic, who is of all men the most atrocious. The power doesn't exist, said the Colonel, which could snub the honorable Septimus. That man is possessed of a strength which I thoroughly envy, which is perhaps more enviable than any other gift the gods can give. Words cannot penetrate that skin of his. Satire flows off him like water from a duck. Ridicule does not touch him. The fellow's abuse does not succeed in inflicting the slightest wound. He has learnt the great secret that a man cannot be cut who will not be cut. As it is worth no man's while to protract an enmity with one such as he, he suffers from no prolonged enmities. He walks unassailable by any darts and is, I should say, the happiest man in London. Then I fear you can do nothing for me at Glen Bogey. To mollify Aunt Emily in wood I fear be beyond your power. Sir Thomas, as far as I can see, does not require much mollifying. Sir Thomas might give the young woman a thousand or two. That is not the way in which I desire to keep a good hat on my head, said Hummel, as he seated himself in the little carriage, which was to take him down to Caller-Foot. The Colonel remained at Drumcaller till the end of September, when his presence was required at all a shot, during which time he shot a good deal in obedience to the good-natured behests of Lord Glenn Tower and in spite of the upturn nose of Mr. Traffic. He read much and smoked much, so that as to the passing of his time there was not any need to pity him, and he consumed a portion of his spare hours in a correspondence with his aunt the Marquesa and with his cousin Nina. One of his letters from each shall be given, and also one of the letters written to each in reply. Nina to her cousin the Colonel. My dear Jonathan, Lady Albury says that you ought to be here, and so you ought it is ever so nice. There is Mr. Ponsonby here, and he and I can beat any other couple at Lawn-Tennis. There is an awning over the ground which is such a lounge.  They were here, but have gone. One, I am quite sure, was overhead in ears in love with Mr. Ponsonby. These sort of things are always all on one side, you know. He isn't very much of a man, but he does play Lawn-Tennis divinely. Take it altogether. I don't think there's anything out to beat Lawn-Tennis. I don't know about hunting, and I don't suppose I ever shall. We have tried to have Ayala here, but I fear it will not come off. Lady Albury was good-natured, but at last she did not quite like writing to Mrs. Dossett. So Mamar wrote, but the lady's answer was very stiff. She thought it better for Ayala to remain among her own friends. Poor Ayala, it is clear that a night will be wanted to go in armour and to get her out of prison. I will leave it to you to say who must be the knight. I hope you will come for a day or two before you go to Aldershot. We stay till the first of October. You'll be a beast if you don't. Lady Albury says she never means to ask you again. Oh, Stubbs, said Sir Harry. Stubbs is one of those fellows who never come if they're asked. Of course we all sat upon him. Then he declared that you were the dearest friend he had in the world, but that he never dared to dream that you would ever come to Stullum again. Perhaps if we can hit it off at last with Ayala, then you would come. Mamar means to try again. You're affectionate cousin Nina. The Marquesa Baldoni to her nephew Colonel Stubbs. My dear Jonathan, I did my best for my protégé, but I'm afraid it will not succeed. Her aunt, Mrs. Dossett, seems to think that as Ayala is fated to live with her, Ayala had better take her fate as she finds it. The meaning of that is that if a girl is doomed to have a dull life, she had better not begin it with a little pleasure. There is a good deal to be said for the argument, but if I were the girl, I should like to begin with the pleasure and take my chance for the reaction. I should perhaps be vain enough to think that during the preliminary course I might solve all the difficulty by my beau's year. I saw Mrs. Dossett once, and now I have had a letter from her. Upon the whole I'm inclined to pity poor Ayala. We are very happy here. The Marques has gone to Como to look after some property he has there. Do not be ill- natured enough to say that the two things go together, but in truth he is never comfortable out of Italy. He had a slice of red meat put before him the other day, and that decided him to start at once. On the first of October we go back to London and shall remain till the end of November. They have asked Nina to come again in November in order that she may see her hunt. I know that means that she will try to jump over something and have her leg broken. You must be here and not allow it. If she does come here I shall perhaps go down to Brighton for a fortnight. Yes, I do think Ayala Dorma is a very pretty girl, and I do think also that she is clever. I quite agree that she is ladylike, but I do not therefore think that she is just such a girl as such a man as Colonel Jonathan Stubbs or to marry. She is one of those human beings who seem to have been removed out of this world and brought up in another.  Wandering through a grove or seated by a brook or shivering with you on the top of a mountain she would be charming. I doubt whether she would be equally good at the top of your table or looking after your children or keeping the week's accounts. She would tease you with poetry and not even pretend to be instructed when you told her how an army ought to be moved. I say nothing as to the fact that she hasn't got a penny, although you are just in that position which makes it necessary for a man to get some money with his wife. I therefore am altogether indisposed to any matrimonial outlook in that direction. Your affectionate aunt, Beatrice Baldoni. Colonel Stubbs to his cousin Nina. Dear Nina, Lady Albury is wrong. I ought not to be at Stullum. What would I do at Stullum at this time of year, who never shoot partridges, and what would be the use of attempting lawn tennis when I know I should be cut out by Mr. Ponsonby? If that day in November is to come off, then I'll come and coach you across the country. You tell Sir Harry that I say so, and that I will bring three horses for one week. I think it very hard about poor Ayala Dorma, but what can any knight do in such a case? When a young lady is handed over to the custody of an uncle or an aunt, she becomes that uncle and aunt's individual property. Mrs. Dossett may be the most noxious dragon that ever was created for the mortification and general misery of an imprisoned damsel, but still she is omnipotent. The only knight who can be of any service is one who'll go with a ring in his hand and absolutely carry the prisoner away by force of the marriage service. Your unfortunate cousin is so exclusively devoted to the duty of fighting his country's battles that he is not even time to think of a step so momentous as that.  But I cannot but think how happy she would be at Stullum, struggling to beat you in Mr. Ponsonby at Lawn Tennis, and then risking a cropper when the happy days of November should come around. Your loving cousin, J.S. Colonel Stubbs to the Marquesa Baldoni. My dear aunt, your letter is worthy of the Queen of Sheba if, as was no doubt the case, she corresponded with King Solomon. As for Ayala's fate, if it be her fate to live with Mrs. Dosset, she can only submit to it. You cannot carry her over to Italy, nor would the Marquesa allow her to divide his Italian good things with Nina.  She had her chance of living amidst diamonds and banknotes with the Tringle millionaires, but threw it away after some fashion that I do not understand. No doubt she was a fool, but I cannot but like her the better for it. I hardly think that a fortnight at Stullum, with all Sahari's luxuries around her, would do her much service. As for myself and the top of my table, and the future companion who is to be doomed to listen to my military lucubrations, I am altogether inclined to agree with you, seeing that you write in a pure spirit of worldly good sense. No doubt the Queen of Sheba gave advice of the same sort to King Solomon. I never knew a woman to speak confidentially of matrimony otherwise than as a matter of pound shillings and pence. In counsel so given, no word of love has ever been known to creep in. Why should it, seeing that love cannot put a leg of mutton into the pot? Don't imagine that I say this in a spirit either of censure or satire. Your ideas are my own, and should I ever marry, I shall do so in strict accordance with your tenets, thinking altogether of the weakly accounts, and determined to astue any sitting by the sides of Brooks. I have told Nina about my plans. I will be at Stullum in November to see that she does not break her neck. Yours always, J.S. Perhaps Mrs. Dosset had some just cause for refusing her sanction for the proposed visit to Albury.  Up to the time of her going to the Marquesa in Brook Street, Ayala had certainly done her best to suit herself to her aunt's manners, though she had done it with pain and suffering. She had hemmed the towels and mended the sheets and made the rounds of the shops. She had endeavoured to attend to the pounds of meat and to sympathise with her aunt in the interest taken in the relics of the joints as they escaped from the hungry treatment of the two maidens in the kitchen. Ayala had been clever enough to understand that her aunt had been wounded by Lucy's indifference, not so much because she had desired to avail herself of Lucy's labours, as from a feeling that that indifference had seemed to declare that her own pursuits were mean and vulgar. Understanding this she had struggled to make those pursuits her own and had in part succeeded. Her aunt could talk to her about the butter and the washing matters as to which her lips had been closed in any conversation with Lucy. That Ayala was struggling Mrs. Dossett had been aware, but she had thought that such struggles were good and had not been hopeless. Then came the visit to Brook Street and Ayala returned quite an altered young woman. It seemed as though she neither could nor would struggle any longer.  No doubt we would all like meat joints the best, said her aunt frowning.  You have, I daresay, been cocked up at the marqueses with maid dishes.  You don't hate eating? Yes, I do. It's ignoble. Nature should have managed it differently. We ought to have sucked it in from the atmosphere through our fingers and hairs as the trees do by their leaves. There should have been no butchers and no grease and no nasty smells from the kitchen and no gin. This was worse than all, this allusion to the mild but unfashionable stimulant to which Mr. Dossett had been reduced by his good nature.  Nevertheless, said Ayala, I think we might have done without boiled mutton. Then she turned to some articles of domestic needlework which were in her lap, so as to show that in spite of the wickedness of her opinions she did not mean to be idle. But Mrs. Dossett in her roth snatched the work from her niece's hands and carried it out of the room, thus declaring that not even a pillow case in her house should always stitch to the hands of a girl so ungrateful and so blasphemous. The roth wore off soon. Ayala, though not contrite, was meek, and walked home with her aunt on the following morning, patiently carrying a pound of butter, six eggs in a small lump of bacon in a basket. After that the pillow case was recommitted to her. But there still was left evidence enough that the girl's mind had been upset by the luxuries of Brook Street, evidence to which Aunt Margaret paid very much attention, insisting upon it in her colloquies with her husband. I think that a little amusement is good for young people, said Uncle Reginald weakly. And for old people, too, no doubt about it, if they can get it, so as not to do them any harm at the same time. Nothing can be good for a young woman which unfits her for that state of life to which it is pleased God to call her. Ayala has to live with us. No doubt there was a struggle when she first came from your sister Lady Tringle, but she made it gallantly, and I gave her great credit. She was just falling into a quiet mode of life when there came this invitation from the Marquesa Baldoni. Now she has come back quite an altered person and the struggle has to be made all over again. Uncle Reginald again expressed his opinion that young people ought to have a little amusement, but he was not strong enough to insist very much upon his theory. It certainly, however, was true that Ayala, though she still struggled, had been very much disturbed by the visit. Then came the invitation to Stullum. There was a very pretty note from Lady Albury to Ayala herself, saying how much pleasure she would have in seeing Miss Dorma at her house, where Ayala's old friends the Marquesa and Nina were then staying. This was accompanied by a long letter from Nina herself, in which all the charms of Stullum, including Mr. Ponsonby and Lawn Tennis, were set forth at full length. Ayala had already heard much about Stullum and the Albury's from her friend Nina, who had hinted in a whisper that such an invitation as this might perhaps be forthcoming. She was ready enough for the visit, having looked through her wardrobe and resolved that things which had been good enough for Brook Street would still be good enough for Stullum. But the same post had brought a letter for Mrs. Dossett, and Ayala could see that as the letter was read a frown came upon her aunt's brow and that the look on her aunt's face was decidedly averse to Stullum. This took place soon after breakfast when Uncle Reginald had just started for his office, and neither of them for a while said a word to the other of the letter that had been received. It was not until after lunch that Ayala spoke. Aunt, she said, you have had a letter from Lady Albury. Yes, said Mrs. Dossett-Crimley, I have had a letter from Lady Albury. Then there was another silence till Ayala, whose mind was full of promised delights, could not refrain herself longer. Aunt Margaret, she said, I hope you mean to let me go. For a minute or two there was no reply, and Ayala again pressed her question. Lady Albury wants me to go to Stullum. She has written to me to say that she would receive you. And I may go. I am strongly of the opinion that you had better not, said Mrs. Dossett, confirming her decree by a nod which might have suited Jupiter. Oh, Aunt Margaret, why not? I think it would be most prudent to decline. But why, why, why, Aunt Margaret? There must be expense. I have money enough for the journey left of my own from what Uncle Tom gave me, said Ayala, pleading her cause with all her eloquence. It's not only the money, there are other reasons, very strong reasons. What reasons, Aunt Margaret? My dear, it is your lot to have to live with us, and not with such people as the Marques of Aldoni and Lady Albury. I am sure I do not complain. But you would complain after having, for a time, been used to the luxuries of Albury Park. I do not say that, as finding fault, Ayala, it is human nature that it should be so. But I won't complain. Have I ever complained? Yes, my dear, you told me the other day that you did not like bones of mutton, and you were disgusted, because things were greasy. I do not say this by way of scolding you, Ayala, but only that you may understand what must be the effect of your going from such a house as this to such a house as Stullum, and then returning back from Stullum to such a house as this. You had better be contented with your position. I am contented with my position, sobbed Ayala, and allow me to write to Lady Albury refusing the invitation. But Ayala could not be brought to look at the matter with her aunt's eyes. When her aunt pressed her for an answer which would convey her consent, she would give none, and at last left the room bitterly sobbing. Turning the matter over in her own bosom upstairs, she determined to be mutinous. No doubt she owed a certain amount of obedience to her aunt. But had she not been obedient, had she not worked hard and lugged about that basket of provisions, and endeavoured to take an interest in all her aunt's concerns? Was she so absolutely the property of her aunt that she was bound to do everything her aunt desired to the utter annihilation of all her hopes, to the extermination of her promised joys? She felt that she had succeeded in Brook Street. She had met no angel of light, but she was associated with people whom she had liked, and had been talked to by those to whom it had been a pleasure to listen. That colonel with the quaint name and the ugly face was still present to her memory, as he had leaned over her shoulder at the theatre, making her now laugh by his drollery, and now filling her mind with interest by his description of the scenes which she was seeing. She was sure that all this, or something of the same nature, would be renewed for her delighted stullum. And was she to be robbed of this the only pleasure which seemed to regain to her in this world merely because her aunt chose to entertain severe notions as to duty and pleasure? Other girls went out when they were asked. At Rome, when that question of the dance at the Marqueses had been discussed, she had had her own way in opposition to her aunt Emeline and her cousin Augusta. No doubt she had in consequence partly of her conduct on that occasion been turned out of her uncle Tom's house, but of that she did not think at the present moment. She would be mutinous and would appeal to her uncle Reginald for assistance. But the letter which contained the real invitation had been addressed to her aunt, and her aunt could in truth answer it as she pleased. The answer might at this moment be in the act of being written, and should it be a verse, Iala knew very well that she could not go in opposition to it. And yet her aunt came to her in the afternoon, consulting her again, quite unconquered as to her own opinion, but still evidently unwilling to write the fatal letter without Iala's permission. Then Iala assured herself that she had rights of her own which her aunt did not care to contravene. I think I ought to be allowed to go, she said, when her aunt came to her during the afternoon. When I think it will be bad for you? It won't be bad. They are very good people. I think that I ought to be allowed to go. Have you no reliance on those who are your natural guardians? Uncle Reginald is my natural guardian, said Iala, through her tears. Very well. If you refuse to be guided by me as though I were not your aunt, and as you will pay no attention to what I tell you is proper for you and best, the question must be left until your uncle comes home. I cannot but be very much hurt that you should think so little of me. I have always endeavored to do the best I could for you, just as though I were your mother. I think that I ought to be allowed to go, repeated Iala. As the first consequence of this the replies to all the three letters were delayed for the next day's post. Iala had considered much with what pretty words she might best answer Lady Aubrey's kind note, and she had settled upon a form of words which she had felt to be very pretty. Unless her uncle would support her, that would be of no avail, and another form must be chosen. To Nina she would tell the whole truth, either how full of joy she was, or else how cruelly used and how thoroughly broken-hearted. But she could not think that her uncle would be unkind to her. Her uncle had been uniformly gentle. Her uncle, when he should know how much her heart was set upon it, would surely let her go. The poor girl, when she tacitly agreed that her uncle should be the arbiter in the matter, thus pledging herself to abide by her uncle's decision, let it be what it might, did not think what great advantage her aunt would have over her in that discussion which would be held upstairs while the master of the house was washing his hands before dinner. Nor did she know of how much stronger will was her aunt Margaret than her uncle Reginald. While he was washing his hands and putting on his slippers, the matter was settled in a manner quite destructive of poor Ayala's hopes. I won't have it, said Mrs. Dosset in reply to the old argument that young people ought to have some amusement. If I am to be responsible for the girl, I must be allowed my own way with her. It is trouble enough and very little thanks I get for it. Of course she hates me. Nevertheless I can endeavour to do my duty, and I will. It is not thanks, nor love, nor even gratitude that I look for. I am bound to do the best I can by her, because she is your niece, and because she has no other real friends. I knew what would come of it when she went to that house in Brook Street. I was soft then, and gave way. The girl has moped about like a miserable creature ever since. If I am not to have my own way now, I will have done with her altogether. Having heard this very powerful speech, Uncle Reginald was obliged to give way, and it was settled that after dinner he should convey to Ayala the decision to which they had come. Ayala, as she sat at the dinner table, was all expectation, but she asked no question. She asked no question after dinner, while her uncle slowly, solemnly, and sadly, sipped his one beaker of cold gin and water. He sipped it very slowly, no doubt, because he was anxious to postpone the evil moment in which he must communicate her fate to his niece. But at last the melancholy glass was drained, and then, according to the customer of the family, Mrs. Dossett led the way up into the drawing-room, followed by Ayala and her husband. He, when he was on the stairs, and when the eyes of his wife were not upon him, tremulously put out his hand and laid it on Ayala's shoulder as though to embrace her. The poor girl knew well that mark of affection. There would have been no need for such embracing, had the offered joys of Stalin been in store for her. The tears were already in her eyes when she seated herself in the drawing-room, as far removed as possible from the armchair which was occupied by her aunt. Then her uncle pronounced his judgment in a vacillating voice, with a vacillation which was ineffectual of any good to Ayala. Ayala, he said, your aunt and I have been talking over this invitation to Stalin, and we are of the opinion, my dear, that you had better not accept it. Why not, Uncle Reginald? There would be expense. I can pay for my own ticket. There would be many expenses which I need not explain to you more fully. The truth is, my dear, that poor people cannot afford to live with rich people and had better not attempt it. I don't want to live with them. Visiting them is living with them for a time. I am sorry, Ayala, that we are not able to put you in a position in which you might enjoy more of the pleasure's incidental to your age, but you must take the things as they are. Looking at the matter all round, I am sure your aunt is right in advising that you should stay at home. It isn't advice at all, said Ayala. Ayala exclaimed to aunt in a tone of indignation. It isn't advice, repeated Ayala. Of course, if you won't let me go, I can't. You are a very wicked girl, said Mrs. Dosset, to speak to your uncle like that after all he's done for you. Not wicked, said the uncle. I say wicked, but it doesn't matter. I shall at once write to Lady Albury as you desire, and of course there will be no further question as to her going. Soon after that Mrs. Dosset sat down at her desk and wrote that letter to which the Marquesa had eluded in hers to her nephew. No doubt it was stern and hard, and of a nature to make such a woman as the Marquesa feel that Mrs. Dosset would not be a pleasant companion for a girl like Ayala. But it was written with a full conviction that duty required it, and the words, though hard and stiff, had been chosen with the purpose of showing that the doing of this disagreeable duty had been felt to be imperative. When the matter had been thus decided, Ayala soon retreated to her own room. Her very soul was burning with indignation at the tyranny to which she thought herself subjected. The use of that weak word, advice, had angered her more than anything. It had not been advice. It had not been given as advice. A command had been laid upon her, a most cruel and unjust command which she was forced to obey because she lacked the power of escaping from her condition of slavery. Advice, indeed. Advice is a thing with which the advice one may or may not comply, as that advice one may choose. A slave must obey an order. Her own papa and her own mama had always advised her, and the advice had always been followed, even when read only in the glance of an eye, in a smile or a nod. Then she had known what it was to be advised. Now she was ordered, as slaves are ordered, and there was no escape from her slavery. She too must write her letter, but there was no need now of that pretty studied phrase in which she had hoped to thank Lady Aubrey fitly for her great kindness. She found, after a vain attempt or two, that it was hopeless to endeavor to write to Lady Aubrey. The words would not come to her pen. But she did write to Nina. Dear, dearest Nina, they won't let me go. Oh, my darling, I am so miserable. Why should they not let me go when people are so kind, so very kind, as Lady Aubrey and your dear mama?  I was so happy when I got your letter and Lady Aubrey's, and now I am so wretched. I cannot write to Lady Aubrey. You must just tell her with many thanks from me that they will not let me go. You're unhappy, but a fictionate friend, Ayala. End of Chapter Twenty-One There was much pity felt for Ayala among the folk at Stalem. The sympathies of them all should have been with Mrs. Dossett. They ought to have felt that the poor aunt was simply performing an unpleasant duty and that the girl was impracticable, if not disobedient. But Ayala was known to be very pretty, and Mrs. Dossett was supposed to be plain. Ayala was interesting, while Mrs. Dossett, from the nature of her circumstances, was most uninteresting. It was agreed on all sides at Stalem that so prettier bird as Ayala should not be imprisoned forever in so ugly a cage. Such a bird ought at least to be allowed its chance of captivating some fitting mate by its song and its plumage. That was Lady Aubrey's argument, a woman very good-natured, a little given to matchmaking, a great friend to pretty girls, and whose eldest son was his yet only nine, so that there could be no danger to herself or her own flock. There was much ridicule thrown on Mrs. Dossett at Stalem, and many pretty things said of the bird who was so unworthily imprisoned in Kingsbury Crescent. At last there was something like a conspiracy, the purport of which was to get the bird out of its cage in November. In this conspiracy it can hardly be said that the Marquesa took an active part. Much as she liked Ayala, she was less prone than Lady Aubrey to think that the girl was ill-used. She was more keenly alive than her cousin, or rather her cousin's wife, to the hard necessities of the world. Ayala must be said to have made her own bed. At any rate there was the bed, and she must lie on it. It was not the Dossett's fault that they were poor. According to their means they were doing the best they could for their niece, and were entitled to praise rather than abuse. And then the Marquesa was afraid for her nephew. Colonel Stubbs in his letter to her had declared that he quite agreed with her views as to matrimony, but she was quite alive to her nephew's sarcasm. Her nephew, though he might in truth agree with her, nevertheless, was sarcastic. Though he was sarcastic, yet he might be made to exceed to her views because he did in truth agree with her. She was eminently an intelligent woman, seeing far into character, and she knew pretty well the real condition of her nephew's mind and could foresee his conduct. He would marry before long, and might not, improbably, marry a girl with some money if one could be made to come his way who would at the same time suit his somewhat fastidious taste. But Ayala suited his taste. Ayala, who had not a shilling, and the Marquesa, thought it only too likely that if Ayala was released from her cage and brought to Aubrey Ayala might become Mrs. Jonathan Stubbs. That Ayala should refuse to become Mrs. Jonathan Stubbs did not present itself as a possibility to the Marquesa. So the matters were when the Marquesa and Nina returned from Stullum to London, a promise having been given that Nina should go back to Stullum in November and be allowed to see the glories of a hunt. She was not to ride to Hounds. That was a matter of course, but she was to be permitted to see what a pack of Hounds was like and of what like were the men in their scarlet coats and how the huntsman's horn would sound when it should be heard among the woods and fields. It was already decided that the Colonel should be there to meet her and the conspiracy was formed with the object of getting Ayala out of her cage at the same time. Stullum was a handsome country seat in the county of Rufford, and Sir Harry Aubrey had lately taken upon himself the duties of Master of the Rufford and Ufford United Pack. Colonel Stubbs was to be there with his horses in November but had in the meantime been seen by Lady Aubrey and had been instigated to do something for the release of Ayala. But what could he do? It was at first suggested that he should call it King's Precrescent and endeavor to mollify the stony heart of Aunt Dosset.  I'm not an adonis, I know, he said, though do I look like a Lothario, but still I am in some sort a young man, and therefore certain to be regarded as pernicious, as dangerous and damnable by such a dragon of virtue as Aunt Dosset. I don't see how I could expect to have a chance. This interview took place in London during the latter end of October, and it was at last decided that the mission should be made by Lady Aubrey herself, and made not to Mrs. Dosset at King's Precrescent, but to Mr. Dosset at his office in Somerset House. I don't think I could stand Mrs. D., said Lady Aubrey. Lady Aubrey was a handsome, fashionable woman, rather tall, always excellently dressed, and possessed of a personal assurance which nothing good daunt. She had the reputation of an affectionate wife and a good mother, but was nevertheless declared by some of her friends to be a little fast. She certainly was fond of comedy. Those who did not like her were apt to say that her comedy was only fun, and was much disposed to have her own way when she could get it. She was now bent upon liberating Ayala from her cage, and for this purpose had herself driven into the huge court belonging to Somerset House. Mr. Dosset was dignified at his office with the use of a room to himself, a small room looking out upon the river, in which he spent six hours on six days of the week in arranging the indexes of a voluminous library of manuscript letter-books. It was rarely, indeed, that he was disturbed by the presence of any visitor. When therefore his door was opened by one of the messengers, and he was informed that Lady Aubrey desired to see him, he was, for the moment, a good deal disturbed. No option, however, was given to him as to refusing admission to Lady Aubrey. She was in the room before the messenger had completed his announcement, and had seated herself in one of the two spare chairs which the room afforded as soon as the door was closed. Mr.  When the lady was first announced, Mr. Dosset, in his confusion, had failed to connect the name which he had heard with that of the lady who had invited Ayala to her house, but now he recognized it and knew who it was that had come to him.  And now I have come to invite her again. Mr. Dosset was now more disturbed than ever. With what words was he to refuse the request which this kind, but very grandlady, was about to make? How could he explain to her all those details as to his own poverty and as to Ayala's fate in having to share that poverty with him? How could he explain the unfitness of Ayala's temporary sojourn with people so wealthy and luxurious? And yet were he to yield in the least, how could he face his wife on his return home to the Crescent? You're very kind, Lady Aubrey, he said. We particularly wish to have her about the end of the first week in November, said the lady. A friend Nina Baldoni will be there, and one or two others whom she knows.  I have no doubt it would be gay, and we at home are very dull. Do you not think a little gayety good for young people, said her ladyship, using the very argument which poor Mr. Dosset had so often attempted to employ on Ayala's behalf? Yes, a little gayety, he said, as though deprecating the excessive amount of hilarity which he imagined to prevail at Stullum. Of course you do, said Lady Aubrey. Poor little girl, I have heard so much about her, and of all your goodness to her. Mrs. Dosset, I know, is another mother to her. But still a little country heir could not but be beneficial. Do say that she shall come to us, Mr. Dosset? Then Mr. Dosset felt that, disagreeable as it was, he must preach the sermon which his wife had preached to him, and he did preach it. He spoke timidly of his own poverty, and the need which there was that Ayala should share it. He spoke a word of the danger which might come from luxury, and of the discontent which would be felt when the girl returned to her own home. Something he added of the propriety of like living with like, and ended by praying that Ayala might be excused. The words came from him with none of that energy which his wife would have used, were uttered in a low melancholy drone, but still they were words hard to answer, and called upon Lady Aubrey for all her ingenuity in finding an argument against them. But Lady Aubrey was strong-minded and did find an argument. You mustn't be angry with me, she said, if I don't quite agree with you. Of course you wish to do the best you can for this dear child. Indeed I do, Lady Aubrey. How is anything then to be done for her if she remains shut up in your house? You do not, if I understand, see much company yourselves. None at all. You won't be angry with me for my impertinence in alluding to it? Not in the least. It is the fact that we live altogether to ourselves. And the happiest kind of life, too, for married people, said Lady Aubrey, who is accustomed to fill her house in the country with a constant succession of visitors and to have engagements for every night of the week in town. But for young people it is not quite so good. How is a young lady to get herself settled in life? Her settled? asked Mr. Dossard vaguely. Married, suggested Lady Aubrey, more plainly. Mr. Dossard shook his head. No idea on the subject had ever flashed across his mind, to provide bread and meat, a bed, and clothes, for his sister's child he had felt to be a duty, but not a husband. Husbands came, or did not, as the heavens might be propitious. That Ayala should go to Stullum for the sake of finding a husband was certainly beyond the extent of his providing care. In fact, how is a girl to have a chance at all unless she's allowed to see someone? Of course, I don't say this with reference to our house. There will be no young men there, or anything of that kind. But taking a broad view and let you let a girl like that have what chances come in her way, how is she to get on? I think you have hardly a right to do it. We have done it for the best. I'm sure of that, Mr. Dossard, and I hope you will tell Mrs. Dossard with my compliments how thoroughly I appreciate her goodness. I should have called upon her instead of coming here, only that I cannot very well get into that part of the town. I will tell her what you're good enough to say. Poor Ayala, I am afraid that our other aunt, Aunt Tringle, was not as good to her as your wife. I have heard about how all that occurred in Rome. She was very much admired there. I am told she is perfectly lovely. Pretty well. A sort of beauty that we hardly ever see now, and very, very clever. Ayala is clever, I think. She ought to have her chance. She ought indeed. I don't think you quite do your duty by such a girl as that, unless you let her have a chance. She's sure to get to know people, and to be asked from one house to another. I speak plainly, for I really think you ought to let her come. All this sank deeply into the heart of Uncle Reginald. Whether it was for good or evil, it seemed to him at the moment to be unanswerable. If there was a chance of any good thing for Ayala, surely it could not be his duty to bar her from that chance. A whole vista of new views in reference to the treatment of young ladies was open to him by the words of his visitor. Ayala certainly was pretty, certainly she was clever. A husband with an income would certainly be a good thing. Embryo husbands with incomes do occasionally fall in love with pretty girls. But how can any pretty girl be fallen in love with unless someone be permitted to see her? At Kingsbury Crescent there was not a man to be seen from one end of the year to another. It occurred to him now, for the first time, that Ayala, by her present life, was shut out from any chance of marriage. It was manifestly true that he had no right to seclude her in that fashion. At last he made a promise, rashly as he felt at the very moment of making it, that he would ask his wife to allow Ayala to go to Stullum. Lady Aubrey, of course, accepted this as an undertaking that Ayala should come, and went away triumphant. Mr. Dossett walked home across the parks with a troubled mind, thinking much of all that had passed between him and the Lady of Fashion. It was with great difficulty that he could quite make up his mind which was right, the Lady of Fashion, or his wife. If Ayala was to live always as they lived at Kingsbury Crescent, if it should, in process of time, be her fate to marry some man in the same class as themselves, if continued care as to small pecuniary needs was to be her future lot, then certainly her comfort would only be disturbed by such a visit as that now proposed. And was it not probable that such would be the destiny in store for her? Mr. Dossett knew the world well enough to be aware that all pretty girls such as Ayala cannot find rich husbands merely by exhibiting their prettiness. Kingsbury Crescent, unalloyed by the dangers of Stullum, would certainly be the most secure. But then he had been told that Ayala now had special chances offered to her, and that he had no right to rob her of these chances. He felt this the most strongly because she was not his daughter, only his niece. With the daughter he and his wife might have used their own judgment without check. But now he had been told that he had no right to rob Ayala for chances, and he felt that he had not the right. By the time that he reached Kingsbury Crescent, he had, with many misgivings, decided in favour of Stullum. It was now some weeks since the first invitation had been refused, and during those weeks life had not been pleasant at the Crescent. Ayala moped and pined as though some great misfortune had fallen upon her. When she had first come to the Crescent she had borne herself bravely, as a man bears a trouble when he is conscious that he has brought it on himself by his own act, and is proud of the act which has done it. But when that excitement has gone and the trouble still remains, the pride wears off, and the man is simply alive to his suffering. So it had been with Ayala. Then had come the visit to Brook Street. When, soon after that, she was invited to Stullum, it seemed as though a new world was being open to her. There came a moment when she could again rejoice that she had quarreled with her Aunt Emilyne. This new world would be a much better world than the Tringle World. Then had come the great blow, and it had seemed to her as though there was nothing but Kingsbury Crescent before her for the rest of her wretched life. There was not a detail of all this hidden from the eyes of Aunt Margaret. Stullum had decided that Aunt Margaret was ugly and uninteresting. Stullum, according to its own views, was right. Nevertheless, the lady in Kingsbury Crescent had both eyes to see and a heart to feel. She was hot of temper, but she was forgiving. She liked her own way, but she was affectionate. She considered it right to teach her niece the unsavory mysteries of economy, but she was aware that such mysteries must be distasteful to one brought up as Ayala. Even when she had been loudest in denouncing Ayala's mutiny, her heart had melted in Ruth because Ayala had been so unhappy. She too had questioned herself again and again as to the justice of her decision. Was she entitled to rob Ayala of her chances? In her frequent discussions with her husband she still persisted in declaring that Kingsbury Crescent was safe and that Stullum would be dangerous. But nevertheless in her own bosom she had misgivings. As she saw the poor girl mope and weary through one day after another, she could not but have misgivings. I have had that Lady Albury with me at the office today and have almost promised that Ayala shall go to her on the eighth of November. It was thus that Mr. Dosset rushed at once into his difficulty as soon as he found himself upstairs with his wife. You have? Well, my dear, I almost did. She said a great deal and I could not but agree with much of it. Ayala ought to have her chances. What chances! demanded Mrs. Dosset, who did not at all like the expression. Well, seeing people she never sees anybody here. Nobody is better than some people, said Mrs. Dosset, meaning to be severe on Lady Albury's probable guests. But if a girl sees nobody, said Mr. Dosset, she can have no chances. She has the chance of wholesome fiddles, said Mrs. Dosset, and I don't know what other chances your eye can give her. She might see a young man, this Mr. Dosset said very timidly. A young fiddlestick, a young man, young men should be waited for till they come naturally and never thought about if they don't come at all. I hate this looking after young men, if there wasn't a young man for the next dozen years we should do better. So it's just to get out of the way of thinking about them for a time. This was Mrs. Dosset's philosophy, but in spite of her philosophy she did yield, and on that night it was decided that Ayala, after all, was to be allowed to go to Stullum. To Mr. Dosset was deputed the agreeable task of telling Ayala on the next evening what was to befall her. If anything agreeable was to be done in that somber house, it was always deputed to the master. What! said Ayala, jumping from her chair. On the eighth of November, said Mr. Dosset, to Stullum. Lady Albury was with me yesterday at the office, and your aunt has consented.  Heaven had once more been open to her. I'll never forget it, said Ayala, when she went to thank her aunt. Never! I only hope it may not do you a mischief. And I beg your pardon, Aunt Margaret, because I was—I was—because I was—she could not find the word which would express her own delinquency without admitting more than she intended to admit. Too self-asserting, considering that I'm only a young girl. That would have been her meaning which she have found appropriate words. We need not go back to that now, said Aunt Margaret. Lady Stullum Park On the day fixed, Ayala went down to Stullum. A few days before she started there came to her a letter, or rather an envelope, from her uncle Sir Thomas, in closing a check for twenty pounds. The Tringle women had heard that Ayala had been asked to Stullum, and had mentioned the visit disparagingly before Sir Thomas. I think it very wrong of my poor brother, said Lady Tringle. She can't have a shilling, even to get herself gloves. This had an effect which had not been intended, and Sir Thomas sent the check for twenty pounds. Then Ayala felt not only that the heavens were open to her, but that the sweetest zeffers were blowing her upon her course. Thoughts as to gloves had disturbed her, and as to some shoes which were wanting, and especially as to a pretty hat for winter wear. Now she could get hat and shoes and gloves and pay her fare, and go down to Stullum with money in her pocket. Before going she wrote a very pretty note to her uncle Tom. On her arrival she was made much of by every one. Lady Albury called her the caged bird, and congratulated her on her escape from the bars. Sir Harry asked her whether she could ride to Hounds. Nina gave her a thousand kisses. But perhaps her greatest delight was in finding that Jonathan Stubbs was at Albury. She had become so intimate with the Colonel that she regarded him quite like an old friend, and when a girl has a male friend, though he may be much less loved or not loved at all, he is always more pleasant or at any rate more pecan than a female friend. As for love with Colonel Stubbs, that was quite out of the question. She was sure that he would never fall in love with herself. His manner to her was altogether unlike that of a lover. A lover would be smooth, soft, poetic, and flattering. He was always a little rough to her, sometimes almost scolding her, but then he scolded her as she liked to be scolded, with a dash of fun, and a greatly predominating admixture of good nature. He was like a bear, but a bear who would always behave himself pleasantly. She was delighted when Colonel Stubbs congratulated her on her escape from Kingsbury Crescent, and felt that he was justified by his intimacy when he called Mrs. Dossett a modified cheese-serveress. Are you going to make one of my team? said the Colonel to her on the morning after her arrival. It was a non-hunting morning, and the gentlemen were vacant about the house until they went out for a little shooting later in the day. What team? said Ayala, feeling that she had suddenly received a check to her happiness. She knew that the Colonel was alluding to those hunting joys which were to be prepared for Nina, and which were far beyond her own reach. That question of riding gear is terrible to young ladies who were not properly supplied. Even had time admitted she would not have dared to use her uncle's money for such a purpose in the hope that a horse might be lent to her. She had told herself that it was out of the question, and had declared to herself that she was too thankful for her visit to allow any regret on such a matter to cross her mind. But when the Colonel spoke of his team, there was something of her pang. How she would have liked to be one of such a team. My pony team—I mean to drive, too—you mustn't think that I'm taking a liberty when I say that they are to be called Nina and Ayala. There was no liberty at all. Had he called her simply Ayala she would have felt it to be no more than a pleasant friendship coming from him. He was so big, and so red, and so ugly, and so friendly. Why should he not call her Ayala? But as to that team it could not be. If it's riding, she said to Muley, I can't be one of the ponies. It is riding, of course. Now the Marquesa is not here we mean to call it hunting in a mild way. I can't, she said. But you've got to do it, Miss Dorma. I haven't got anything to do it with. Of course, I don't mind telling you.  It belongs to Sahari's sister who is away, and we've settled it all. There never was a safer little beast, and he can climb through a fence without letting you know that it's there. But I mean clothes, said Ayala. Then she whispered, I haven't got a habit, or anything else anybody ought to have. Ah! said the Colonel. I don't know anything about that. I should say that Nina must have managed that. The horse-department was left to me, and I've done my part. You will find that you will have to go out next Tuesday and Friday. The hounds will be here on Tuesday, and they will be at Rufford on Friday. Rufford is only nine miles from here, and it's all settled. Before the day was over, the difficulty had vanished. Miss Albury's horse had not only been called into requisition, but Miss Albury's habit also. Ayala had a little black hat of her own, which Lady Albury assured her would do excellently well for the hunting field. There was some fitting and some trying on, and perhaps a few moments of preliminary despair, but on the Tuesday morning she rode away from the hall door at eleven o'clock, mounted on sprite, as the little horse was called, and felt herself from head to foot to be one of Colonel Stubbs's team. When at Glenboggy she had ridden a little, and again in Italy, and being fearless by nature, had no trepidation to impair the fullness of her delight. Hunting from home covets rarely exacts much jumping from ladies. The woods are big, and the gates are numerous. It is when the faraway homes of wild foxes are drawn, those secluded breaks and gorsas where the noble animal is wont to live, at a distance from carriage roads and other weak refuges of civilisation, that the riding capacities of ladies must be equal to those of their husbands and brothers. This present moment was an occasion for great delight, at least so it was found by both Nina and Ayala. But it was not an opportunity for great glory. Till it was time for lunch, one fox after another ran about the big woods of Albury in a fashion that seemed perfect to the two girls, but which nearly broke the heart of old Tony, who was still huntsman to the Ufford and Rufford United hunt. Down their nasty ways, said Tony to Mr. Larry Twentyman, who was one of the popular habituaries of the hunt. They runs one atop of another's brushes till there ain't an owned livin' that knows t'other from which. There's always a many on them at Albury, but I never knew an Albury fox worth his grove yet. But there was galloping along roads and through gates, and long strings of horsemen followed each other up and down the rides, and an easy coming back to the places from which they started, which made the girls think that the whole thing was divine. Once or twice there was a little bank, and once or twice a little ditch, just sufficient to make Ayala feel that no possible fence would be a difficulty to sprite. She soon learnt that mode of governing her body which leaping requires, and when she was brought into lunch at about two, she was sure that she could do anything which the art of hunting required. But at lunch an edict went forth as to the two girls against further hunting for that day. Nina strove to rebel, and Ayala attempted to be eloquent by a supplicating glance at the colonel. But they were told that as the horses would be wanted again on Friday, they had done enough. In truth Tony had already trotted off with the hounds to Pringles Gorse, a distance of five miles, and the gentlemen who had lingered over their lunch had to follow him at their best pace. Pringles Gorse is just not the place for young ladies, Sahari said, and so the matter had been decided against Nina and Ayala. At about six, Sahari, Colonel Stubbs and the other gentlemen returned, declaring that nothing quicker than their run from Pringles Gorse had ever been known in that country. About six miles straight on end in forty minutes said the colonel, and then a killer in the open. He was laid up under a bank, said young Gosling. He was so beat that he couldn't carry on a field further, said Captain Batsby, who was staying at the house. I call that the open, said Stubbs. I always think I kill a fox in the open, said Sahari, when the hounds run into him because he cannot run another yard with the country there before him. Then there was a long discussion as they stood drinking tea before the fire as to what the open meant, from which they went to other hunting matters. To all this, Ayala listened with attentive ears, and was aware that she had spent a great day. Oh, what a difference was there between Stullam and Kingsbury Crescent. The next two days were almost equally full of delight.   How infinitely superior, even to Queen's Gate and Glen Vogue! The gaudy magnificence of the tringles had been altogether unlike the luxurious comfort of Stullam, where everybody was at ease, where everybody was good-natured, where everybody seemed to acknowledge that pleasure was then one object of life. On the evening before the Friday she was taken out to dinner by Captain Batsby. She was not sure that she liked Captain Batsby, who made little complimentary speeches to her, but her neighbour on the other side was Colonel Stubbs, and she was quite sure that she liked Colonel Stubbs. I knew you'll go like a bird tomorrow, said Captain Batsby. I shouldn't like that, because there'd be no jumping, said Ayala. But you'd be such a beautiful bird. The Captain, as he'd rolled out his words, made an eye at her, and she was sure that she did not like the Captain. At what time are we to start tomorrow, she said, turning to the Colonel. Ten sharp. Mind your ready, said Harry Texas on the drag, and wouldn't wait for Venus, though she wanted five minutes more for her back hair. I don't suppose she ever wants any time for her back hair. I wouldn't if I were a goddess. Then you'd be a very untidy goddess, that's all. I wonder whether you are untidy. Well, yes, sometimes.  Thank you, Colonel Stubbs.  Her cuffs and collars are always stiff as steel, and she never rubs the sleeves of her dresses by leaning about like some young ladies. That's what I do. My young woman never sits down lest she should crease her dress. My young woman never lets her ribbons get tangled. My young woman can dress upon forty pounds a year, and always look as though she came out of a band box. I don't believe you've got a young woman, Colonel Stubbs. Well, no, I haven't, except in my imagination. If so, he too must have his angel of light. Do you ever dream about her? Oh, dear, yes! I dream that she does scold so awfully when I have her to myself. In my dreams, you know, I'm married to her, and she always wants me to eat hashed mutton. Now, if there is one thing that makes me more sick than another, it is hashed mutton. Of course, I shall marry her in some of my waking moments, and then I shall have to eat hashed mutton for ever. Then Captain Batsby put in another word. I should so like to be allowed to give you a lead tomorrow. Oh, thank you, but I'd rather not have it, said Ayala, who was altogether in the dark, thinking that a lead might be some presence which you would not wish to accept from Captain Batsby. I mean that I should like to show you a line if we get a run. What is a line? asked Ayala. A line? Why, a line is just a lead. Keep your eye on me, and I'll take the fences where you can follow without coming to grief. Oh! said Ayala. That's a lead, is it? Colonel Stubbs is going to give my friend and me a lead, as long as we stay here. No man ever ought to coach more than one lady at once, said the Captain, showing his heir addition. You're sure to come on top of one another, if there are two. But Colonel Stubbs is specially told by the Marquesa to look after both of us, said Ayala, almost angrily. Then she turned her shoulder to him, and was soon intent upon further instructions from the Colonel. The following morning was fine, and all the ladies and the house were packed down to the top of Sahari's drag. The Colonel sat behind Sahari on the plea that he was wanted to take care of the two girls. Captain Batsby and three other gentlemen were put inside, where they consoled themselves with unlimited tobacco. In this way they were driven to a spot called Rufford Crossroads, where they found Tony Tappert sitting perfectly quiescent on his old mare, while the hounds were seated around him on the grassy sides of the roads. With him was talking a stout, almost middle-aged gentleman, in a scarlet coat and natty pink top boots, who was the owner of all the country around. This was Lord Rufford, who a few years since was known as one of the hardest riders in these parts, but he had degenerated into matrimony and was now the happy father of half a dozen babies and was hardly ever seen to jump over a fence. But he still came out when the meets were not too distant and carefully performed that first duty of an English country gentleman, the preservation of foxes. Though he did not ride much, no one liked a little hunting gossip better than Lord Rufford. It was, however, observed that even in regard to hunting he was apt to quote the authority of his wife. Oh yes, my lord, said Tony, there's sure to be a fox at Ellsborough, but we'll find one before we get to Rufford, my lord. Lady Rufford said there hasn't been a fox in in the home woods this week. Her ladyship will be sure to know, said Tony. Do you remember that fence where poor Major Cainback caught his fall six years ago, asked the lord? Seven years ago next Christmas, my lord, said Tony, he never put a leg across a saddle again, poor fellow. I remember him well, my lord, a man who could handle a horse wonderful, though he didn't know how to ride doans, not according to my idea. To get your animal to carry you through, never mind how long the thing is, that's my idea of riding doans, my lord. The Major was always for making a Norse jump over everything. I never want them to jump over nothing I can't help. I don't, my lord. That's just what her ladyship is always saying to me, said Lord Rufford, and I do pretty much what her ladyship tells me. On this occasion Lady Rufford had been quite right about the home covers. No doubt she generally was right in any assertion she made as to her husband's affairs. After drawing them, Tony trotted on towards Dillsborough, running his hounds through a few little springs which lay near his way. As they went, Colonel Stubbs rode between the two girls. Whenever I see Rufford, said the Colonel, he does me a world of good.  He's a continual sermon against marriage. If I should see Rufford once a week, I know that I should be safe. He seems to me to be a very comfortable old gentleman, said Ayala. Old, seven years ago, he was acknowledged to be the one undisputed paragon of a young man in the county. No one else dreamed of looking at a young lady if he chose to turn his eyes in that direction. He was handsome as Apollo. He an Apollo, said Nina. The best Apollo there was then in these parts, and every one knew that he had forty thousand a year to spend. Now he is supposed to be the best hand in the house at rocking the cradle. Do you mean to say that he nurses the babies? asked Ayala. He looks as if he did at any rate. He never goes ten miles away from his door without having Lady Rufford with him, and is always tucked up at night just at half past ten by her ladyship's own maid. Ten years ago he would generally have been found at midnight with cards in his hand and a cigar in his mouth. Now he's allowed two cigarettes a day. Oh, Mr. Twentiment, how are you getting on? This he said to a good-looking, better sort of farmer who came up riding a remarkably strong horse and dressed in pink and white cords. Angie Colonel, pretty well considering how hard the times are. A man who owns a few acres and tries to farm them must be on the road to ruin nowadays. That's what I'm always telling my wife so that she may know what she's got to expect. Mr. Twentiment had been married just twelve months. She isn't much frightened, I daresay, said the Colonel. She's young, you see, continued the farmer, and hasn't settled herself down yet to the sorrows of life. This was that Mr. Lawrence Twentiment who married Kate Masters, the youngest daughter of old Masters, the attorney at Dillsborough, and sister of Mrs. Morton, wife of the Squire of Braggton. By the oldies, said Twentiment, suddenly, the Owens have put a fox out of that little spinny. End of Chapter 23 Ayala, who had been listening attentively to the conversation of Mr. Twentiment and been feeling that she was being initiated every moment into a new phase of life, who had been endeavouring to make some connection in her mind between the new charms of the world around her and that world of her dreams that was ever present to her, and had as yet simply determined that neither could Lord Rufford nor Mr. Twentiment have ever been an angel of light, at once straightened herself in her saddle and prepared herself for the doing of something memorable. It was evident to her that Mr. Twentiment considered that the moment for action had come. He did not gallop off wildly as did four or five others, but stood still for a moment, looking intently at a few hounds, who, with their tails feathering in the air and with their noses down, seemed at the same time to be resolute and determined, knowing that the scent was there, but not yet quite fixed as to its line. Half a moment, Colonel, he said, standing up in his stirrups, with his left hand raised while his right held his reins and his whip closed down on his horse's neck. Half a moment, he only whispered, and then shook his head angrily as he heard the ill-timed shouting of one or two men who had already reached the other side of the little skirting of trees. I wish Fred Bozzi's tongue was tied to his teeth, he said, still whispering. Now, Colonel, they have it. There's a little lane to the right and a gate. After that the country's open and there's nothing which the ladies' nags can't do. I know the country so well you'd perhaps better come with me for a bit. He knows all about it, said the Colonel to Ayala. Do as he tells you. Ayala and Nina both were quick enough to obey. Twenty men dashed along the lane while the girls followed him with the Colonel after them. When they were at the hunting-gate already spoken of, old Tony Tappard was with them, trotting impatient to get to the hounds, courteously giving place to the ladies, whom, however, in his heart he wished at home in bed, and then thrusting himself through the gate in front of the Colonel. Down there Pig Head had folly, he said, as he came up to his friend Twenty Men. They knows no more about it than if they'd just come from behind a counter, allowing, allowing, allowing, as if allowing had made a fox break. Howsoever is off now, and they've got crowned rebrook between them and his line. This, he said in a squeaking little voice, intended to be jacuzzi satirical, shaking his head as he rode. This last idea seemed to give him great consolation. It was the consideration, deep and well-founded, as to the cranberry, which had induced Larry Twenty Men to pause on the road when he had paused, and then to make for the lane in the gate. The direction had hardly seemed to be that of the hounds, but Larry knew the spinny, knew the brook, knew the fox perhaps, and was aware of the spot at which the brute would cross the water if he did cross it. The brute did cross the water, and therefore there was cranberry brook between many of the forward riders and his line. So Harry was then with them and two or three other farmers, but Larry had a lead and the two girls were with him. Tony Tappert, though he had got up to his hounds, did not endeavour to ride straight to them, as did Larry Twenty Men. He was old and unambitious, very anxious to know where his hounds were, so that he might be with them, should they want the assistance of his voice and counsel, anxious to be near enough to take their fox from them, should they run into him, but taking no glory in jumping over a fence if he could avoid it, creeping about here and there, knowing from experience nearly every turn in the animal's mind, aware of every impediment which would delay him, riding fast only when the impediments were far between, taking no amusement to himself out of the riding, but with his heart cruelly, bloodily, ruthlessly set upon killing the animal before him. To kill his fox he would imperil his neck, but for the glory of riding he would not soil his boots if he could help it. After the girls came the colonel, somewhat shorn of his honour in that he was no longer giving them a lead, but doing his best to maintain the pace which Twenty Men was making very good. Now, young ladies, said Twenty Men, give them their heads and let them do just as they please, alongside of each other and not too near to me. It was a brook, a confluent of Crownbury brook, and was wide enough to require a good deal of jumping. It may be supposed that the two young ladies did not understand much of the instructions given to them. To hold their breath and be brave was the only idea present to them. The rest must come from instinct and chance. The other side of the brook was heaven, this would be purgatory. Larry, fearing perhaps that the order as to their not being too near might not be obeyed, added a little to his own pace so as to be clear of them. Nevertheless there were only a few strides behind, and had Larry's horse missed his footing there would have been a mess. As it was they took the brook side by side, close to each other, and landed full of delight and glory on the opposite bank. Bravo young ladies! shouted Twentyman. Oh Nina, that is divine! said Ayala. Nina was a little too much out of breath for answering, but simply threw up her eyes to heaven and made a flourish with her whip, intended to be expressive of her perfect joy. Away went Larry, and away went the girls with him, quite unconscious that the Colonel's horse had balked the brook, and then jumped into it. Quite unconscious that Sahari, seeing the Colonel's catastrophe, had followed Tony a quarter of a mile up the brook to afford. Even in the soft bosoms of young ladies the devil take the hindmost will be the motto most appropriate for hunting. Larry Twentyman, of whom they had never heard before, was now the god of their idolatry. Where Larry Twentyman might go it was manifestly their duty to follow, even though they should never see the poor Colonel again. They wrecked nothing of the fox, or of the hounds, or of the master, or even of the huntsman. They had a man before them to show them the way, and as long as they could keep him in sight each was determined to be at any rate as good as the other. To give Larry his due it must be acknowledged that he was thoroughly thoughtful of them. At every fence encountered he studied the spot at which they would be least likely to fall. He had to remember also that there were two of them together, and that he had made himself in a way responsible for the safety of both. All this he did and did well because he knew his business. With the exception of the water-jump the country over which they passed was not difficult. For a time there was a run of gates each of which their guide was able to open for them, and as they came near to Dillsborough Wood there were gaps in most of the fences, but it seemed to the girls that they had galloped over monstrous hedges or leapt over walls which it would almost take a strong man to climb. The brook, however, the river, as it seemed to them, had been the crowning glory. Ayala was sure that that brook would never be forgotten by her. Even the Angel of Light was hardly more heavenly than the brook. That the fox was running for Dillsborough Wood was a fact well known both to Tony Tappett and Mr. Larry Twentyman. A fox crossing the brook from the roughed side would be sure to run to Dillsborough Wood. When Larry, with the two girls, were just about to enter the ride there was old Tony standing up on his horse at the corner looking into the cupboard. And now also a crowd of horsemen came rushing up who had made their way along the road and had passed up to the wood through Mr. Twentyman's farmyard. For, as it happened, here it was that Mr. Twentyman lived and farmed his own land. Then came Sir Harry, Colonel Stubbs, and some others who had followed the line throughout, the Colonel with his boots full of water, as he had been forced to get off his horse in the bed of the brook. Sir Harry himself was not in the best of humours, as will sometimes be the case with masters when they fail to see the cream of a run. I never saw such riding in my life, said Sir Harry, as though some great sin had been committed by those to whom he was addressing himself. Larry turned round and winked at the two girls, knowing that if sin had been committed they three were the sinners. The girls understood nothing about it, but they still thought that Larry Twentyman was divine. While they were standing about on the rides Tony was still at his work. The riding was over, but the fox had to be killed, and Ilsborough Wood was a covert in which a fox will often require a large amount of killing. No happier home for the vulpine deity exists among the shires of England.  But these, on the present occasion, were debarred from the poor stranger by the wicked ingenuity of man. But there were deep doles in which the brambles and bracken were so thick that no hound, careful of his snout, would penetrate them. The undergrowth of the wood was so interwoven that no huntsman could see through its depths. There were dark nooks so impervious that any fox ignorant of the theory of his own scent must have wondered why a hound should have been induced to creep into spaces so narrow. From one side to another of the wood the hunted boot would traverse, and always seemed to have at last succeeded in putting his persecutors at fault. So it was on this occasion. The run while it lasted had occupied perhaps three quarters of an hour, and during a time equally long poor old Tony was to be seen scurrying from one side of the wood to another, and was to be heard loudly swearing at its attendant whips, because the hounds did not follow his footsteps as quickly as his soul desired. I never meant to put on a pair of top-boots again as long as I live, said the Colonel. At this time a little knot of horsemen was stationed in a knoll on the centre of the wood, waiting until they should hear the fatal whoop. Among them were Nina, Ayala, the Colonel, Larry Twintiman, and Captain Batsby. Give up, top-boots, said Larry. You don't mean to say that you're right in black. Top-boots, black-boots, spurs, britches, and red-coat, I renounced them all from this moment. If ever I'm seen in a hunting field again it will be in a pair of trousers with overalls. Now you're joking, Colonel, said Larry. Why won't you wear a red coat any more, said Ayala? Because I'm disgraced for ever. I came out to coach two young women and give them a lead, and all I've done was tumble into a brook, while a better man has taken my charge away from me. Oh, Jonathan, I am so sorry, said Nina, particularly about your getting into the water. Oh, Colonel Stubbs, we ought to have stopped, said Ayala. It was my only comfort to see how very little I was wanted, said the Colonel. If I had broke my neck instead of wetting my feet it would have been just the same to some people. Oh, Jonathan, said Nina, really shocked. The ought to have stopped, I know we ought to have stopped, said Ayala, almost crying. Nobody ever stops for any one out hunting, said Twintiman, laying down a great law. I should think not, said Captain Batsby, who had hardly been off the road all the time. I'm sure the Colonel will not be angry with me because I took the young ladies on, said Larry. The Colonel is such a muff, said the Colonel himself, that he will never presume to be angry with anybody again. But if my cousin and Miss Dorma are not very much obliged to you for what you have done for them there will be nothing of gratitude left in the female British bosom. You have probably given to them the most triumphant moment of their existence. That was their own riding, Colonel. I had nothing to do with it.  And so am I, said Ayala, though it was such a pity that Colonel Stubbs got into the water. At that moment came the long-expected call. Tony Tappett had killed his fox after crossing and recrossing through the wood half a score of times. Is it all over? asked Ayala, as they hurried down the lull and scurried down the line to get the spot outside the wood to which Tony was dragging the carcass of his defeated enemy. That's all over for him, said Larry. A good fox he was, but he'll never run again. He's one of them breaded little coats. The fox's breaded little coats always run. And is he dead? asked Nina. Poor fellow! I wish it wasn't necessary to kill them. Then they stood by till they saw the body of the victim thrown up into the air and fall amongst the blood-smerched upturned noses of the expectant pack. I call that a pretty little run, Sahari, said Larry Twentyman. Pretty well, said Sahari. The pace wasn't very great, or that pony of mine which Miss Dormer is riding would not have lived with it. Horses, Sahari, don't want so much pace if they're allowed to go straight. It's when a man doesn't get well away or has made a mess with his fences that he needs an extra allowance of pace to catch the ounce. If you're once with them and can go straight, you may keep your place without such a deal of legs. To this Sahari replied only by a grunt, as on the present occasion he had made a mess with his fences, as Larry Twentyman had called it. And now young ladies, said Larry, I hope you'll come in and see my missus and her baby and have a little bit of lunch, such as it is. Nina asked anxiously whether there would not be another fox. Ayala also was anxious less than accepting the prophet hospitality, she should lose any of the delights of the day. But it was at length the range that a quarter of an hour should be allowed before Tony took his hounds over to the Braggton Covats. Immediately Larry was off his horse, rushing into the house and ordering everyone about it to come forth with bread and cheese and sherry and beer. In spite of what he had said of his ruin, it was known that Larry Twentyman was a warm man, and that no man in Rufford gave what he had to give with a fuller heart. His house was in the middle of the Rufford and Ufford hunting-country, and the consumption there during the hunting months of bread and cheese, sherry and beer, must have been immense. Everyone seemed to be intimate with him, and all called for what they wanted as if they were on their own premises. On such occasions as these Larry was a proud man, for no one in those parts carried a lighter heart or was more fond of popularity. The parlor inside was by no means big enough to hold the crowding guests, who therefore munched their bread and cheese and drank their beer around the front door, without dismounting from their horses. But Nina and Ayala, with their friend the Colonel, were taken in sight, as he missed his Twentyman and her baby.  Where did you find him, and what line did he take? I'll tell you all about it when I come back. There are two young ladies for you now to look after. Then he introduced his wife and the baby, which was in her arms. The little fellow is only six weeks old, and yet she wanted to come to the meat. She'd have been riding to Hounds, if I'd let her. Why not? said Mrs. Twentyman. At any rate, I might have gone in the pony carriage, and had a baby with me. Only six weeks old, said Nina, stooping down and kissing the child. He is a darling, said Ayala. I hope he'll go out hunting some day. He'll want to go out six times a week if he's anything like his father, said Mrs. Twentyman. And seven times if he's like his mother, said Larry. Then again they mounted their nags and trotted off across the high roads to the Braxton covets. Mrs. Twentyman, with the baby in her arms, walked down to the gate at the high road and watched them with longing eyes, till Tony and the Hounds were out of sight. Nothing further in the way of hunting was done that day which requires to be recorded. They drew various covets and found a fox or two, but the scent which had been so strong in the morning seemed to have gone, and the glory of the day was over. The two girls and the Colonel remained companions during the afternoon, and succeeded in making themselves merry over the incident of the brook. The Colonel was, in truth, well pleased that Larry Twentyman should have taken his place, though he probably would have not been so gratified had he seen Captain Batsby assume his duties. It had been his delight to see the two girls ride, and he had been near enough to see them. He was one of those men who, though fond of hunting, take no special glory in it, and a devoid of the jealousy of riding. Not to have a good place in a run was no worse to him than to lose a game of billiards or a rubber of wist. Let the reader understand that this trait in his character is not mentioned with approbation, or ways to excel and to go ahead of everybody should the present writer thinks be in the heart of every man who rides to Hounds. There was, in our Colonel, a philosophical way of looking into the thing which perhaps became him as a man, but was deleterious to his character as a sportsman. I do hope you've enjoyed yourself, Ayala, he said, as he lifted her from her horse. Indeed, indeed I have, said Ayala, not noticing the use of her Christian name. I've been so happy and I'm so much obliged to you.