n liked.

The family estate was entailed on her brother; her father spent every
farthing he could; so she had no money, and no expectations, except from
a distant cousin,--Mr. Charlton, of Hernshaw Castle and Bolton Hall.

Even these soon dwindled. Mr. Charlton took a fancy to his late wife's
relation, Griffith Gaunt, and had him into his house, and treated him as
his heir. This disheartened two admirers who had hitherto sustained
Catharine Peyton's gaze, and they retired. Comely girls, girls
long-nosed, but rich, girls snub-nosed, but winning, married on all
sides of her; but the imperial beauty remained Miss Peyton at
two-and-twenty.

She was rather kind to the poor; would give them money out of her
slender purse, and would even make clothes for the women, and sometimes
read to them: very few of them could read to themselves in that day. All
she required in return was, that they should be Roman Catholics, like
herself, or at least pretend they might be brought to that faith by
little and little.

She was a high-minded girl, and could be a womanly one,--whenever she
chose.

She hunted about twice a week in the season, and was at home in the
saddle, for she had ridden from a child; but so ingrained was her
character, that this sport, which more or less unsexes most women, had
no perceptible effect on her mind, nor even on her manners. The scarlet
riding-habit and little purple cap, and the great, white, bony horse she
rode, were often seen in a good place at the end of a long run; but, for
all that, the lady was a most ungenial fox-huntress. She never spoke a
word but to her acquaintances, and wore a settled air of dreamy
indifference, except when the hounds happened to be in full cry, and she
galloping at their heels. Worse than that, when the dogs were running
into the fox, and his fate certain, she had been known to rein in her
struggling horse, and pace thoughtfully home, instead of coming in at
the death, and claiming the brush.

One day, being complimented at the end of a hard run by the gentleman
who kept the hounds, she turned her celestial orbs on him, and said,--

"Nay, Sir Ralph, I love to gallop; and this sorry business gives me an
excuse."

It was full a hundred years ago. The country teemed with foxes; but it
abounded in stiff coverts, and a knowing fox was sure to run from one to
another; and then came wearisome efforts to dislodge him; and then Miss
Peyton's gray eyes used to explore vacancy, a