There were more cards, company, life, there. She
would reach it after paying a few visits to her country friends. Harry
promised, with rather a bad grace, to ride with Lady Maria and the
chaplain to Castlewood. Again they passed by Oakhurst village, and the
hospitable house where Harry had been so kindly entertained. Maria
made so many keen remarks about the young ladies of Oakhurst, and their
setting their caps at Harry, and the mother's evident desire to catch
him for one of them, that, somewhat in a pet, Mr. Warrington said he
would pass his friends' door, as her ladyship disliked and abused
them; and was very haughty and sulky that evening at the inn where they
stopped, some few miles farther on the road. At supper, my Lady Maria's
smiles brought no corresponding good-humour to Harry's face; her tears
(which her ladyship had at command) did not seem to create the least
sympathy from Mr. Warrington; to her querulous remarks he growled a
surly reply; and my lady was obliged to go to bed at length without
getting a single tete-a-tete with her cousin,--that obstinate chaplain,
as if by order, persisting in staying in the room. Had Harry given
Sampson orders to remain? She departed with a sigh. He bowed her to the
door with an obstinate politeness, and consigned her to the care of the
landlady and her maid.

What horse was that which galloped out of the inn-yard ten minutes after
Lady Maria had gone to her chamber? An hour after her departure
from their supper-room, Mrs. Betty came in for her lady's bottle of
smelling-salts, and found Parson Sampson smoking a pipe alone.
Mr. Warrington was gone to bed--was gone to fetch a walk in the
moonlight--how should he know where Mr. Harry was? Sampson answered,
in reply to the maid's interrogatories. Mr. Warrington was ready to set
forward the next morning, and took his place by the side of Lady Maria's
carriage. But his brow was black--the dark spirit was still on him. He
hardly spoke to her during the journey. "Great heavens! she must have
told him that she stole it!" thought Lady Maria within her own mind.

The fact is, that, as they were walking up that steep hill which lies
about three miles from Oakhurst, on the Westerham road, Lady Maria
Esmond, leaning on her fond youth's arm, and indeed very much in love
with him, had warbled into his ear the most sentimental vows, protests,
and expressions of affection. As she grew fonder, he grew colder. As she
looked up in his face,