ned from head to
heel, but by one unaccustomed to his part, and without the courage to
decide what he ought consequently to do while a doubt remained, though
his inspection was verging towards a certainty in his mind.

At last, somewhat annoyed that the man should continue to dog him
wherever he moved, he turned on him and asked him what he wanted?

'Be you a Muster Eav'n Harrington, Esquire?' the man drawled out in the
rustic music of inquiry.

'That is my name,' said Evan.

'Ay,' returned the man, 'it's somebody lookin' like a lord, and has a
small friend wi' shockin' old hat, and I see ye come out o' the Green
Drag'n this mornin'--I don't reck'n there's e'er a mistaak, but I likes
to make cock sure. Be you been to Poortigal, sir?'

'Yes,' answered Evan, 'I have been to Poortigal.'

'What's the name o' the capital o' Portugal, sir?' The man looked
immensely shrewd, and nodding his consent at the laughing reply, added:

'And there you was born, sir? You'll excuse my boldness, but I only does
what's necessary.'

Evan said he was not born there.

'No, not born there. That's good. Now, sir, did you happen to be born
anywheres within smell o' salt water?'

'Yes,' answered Evan, 'I was born by the sea.'

'Not far beyond fifty mile from Fall'field here, sir?'

'Something less.'

'All right. Now I'm cock sure,' said the man. 'Now, if you'll have the
kindness just to oblige me by--'he sped the words and the instrument
jointly at Evan, takin' that there letter, I'll say good-bye, sir, and my
work's done for the day.'

Saying which, he left Evan with the letter in his hands. Evan turned it
over curiously. It was addressed to 'Evan Harrington, Esquire, T---- of
Lymport.'

A voice paralyzed his fingers: the clear ringing voice of a young
horsewoman, accompanied by a little maid on a pony, who galloped up to
the carriage upon which Squire Uplift, Sir George Lowton, Hamilton
Jocelyn, and other cavaliers, were in attendance.

'Here I am at last, and Beckley's in still! How d' ye do, Lady Racial?
How d' ye do, Sir George. How d' ye do, everybody. Your servant, Squire!
We shall beat you. Harry says we shall soon be a hundred a-head of you.
Fancy those boys! they would sleep at Fallow field last night. How I wish
you had made a bet with me, Squire.'

'Well, my lass, it's not too late,' said the Squire, detaining her hand.

'Oh, but it wouldn't be fair now. And I'm not going to be kissed on the
field, if you please