nday dinner which would presently be served. Lord Castlewood and
Harry remained for a while together. Since the Virginian's arrival
my lord had scarcely spoken with him. In his manners he was perfectly
friendly, but so silent that he would often sit at the head of his
table, and leave it without uttering a word.

"I suppose yonder property of yours is a fine one by this time?" said my
lord to Harry.

"I reckon it's almost as big as an English county," answered Harry, "and
the land's as good, too, for many things." Harry would not have the Old
Dominion, nor his share in it, underrated.

"Indeed!" said my lord, with a look of surprise. "When it belonged to my
father it did not yield much."

"Pardon me, my lord. You know how it belonged to your father," cried the
youth, with some spirit. "It was because my grandfather did not choose
to claim his right." [This matter is discussed in the Author's previous
work, The Memoirs of Colonel Esmond.]

"Of course, of course," says my lord, hastily.

"I mean, cousin, that we of the Virginian house owe you nothing but
our own," continued Harry Warrington; "but our own, and the hospitality
which you are now showing me."

"You are heartily welcome to both. You were hurt by the betting just
now?"

"Well," replied the lad, "I am sort o' hurt. Your welcome, you see, is
different to our welcome, and that's the fact. At home we are glad to
see a man, hold out a hand to him, and give him of our best. Here you
take us in, give us beef and claret enough, to be sure, and don't seem
to care when we come, or when we go. That's the remark which I have been
making since I have been in your lordship's house; I can't help telling
it out, you see, now 'tis on my mind; and I think I am a little easier
now I have said it." And with this, the excited young fellow knocked
a billiard-ball across the table, and then laughed, and looked at his
elder kinsman.

"A la bonne heure! We are cold to the stranger within and without our
gates. We don't take Mr. Harry Warrington into our arms, and cry when we
see our cousin. We don't cry when he goes away--but do we pretend?"

"No, you don't. But you try to get the better of him in a bet," says
Harry, indignantly.

"Is there no such practice in Virginia, and don't sporting men there try
to overreach one another? What was that story I heard you telling our
aunt, of the British officers and Tom somebody of Spotsylvania!"

"That's fair!" cries Harry. "That i