before her and adored her.

John Kynaston had but little knowledge of women. Shy and retiring in
manner--somewhat suspicious and distrustful also--he had kept out of
their way through life. Once, in very early manhood, he had been
deceived; he had become engaged to a girl whom he afterwards discovered
to have accepted him only for his money and his name, whilst her heart
really belonged to another and a poorer man. He had shaken himself free
of her, with horror and disgust, and had sworn to himself that he would
never be so betrayed again. Since then he had been suspicious--and not
without just cause--of the young ladies who had smiled upon him, and of
their mothers, who had pressed him with gracious invitations to their
houses. He was a rich man, but he did not mean to be loved for his
wealth; he said to himself that, sooner than be so, he would die
unmarried and leave to Maurice the task of keeping up the old name and
the old family.

But he had seen Vera; and all at once all the old barriers of pride and
reserve were broken down! Here was the one woman on earth who realized
his dreams, the one woman whom he would wait and toil for, even as Jacob
waited and toiled for Rachel!

He had come down to Kynaston to hunt; but hitherto hunting had been very
little in his thoughts. He had been down to the vicarage once or twice,
he had met her once in the lanes, and he had longed for a glimpse of her
daily; as yet he had done nothing else. He opened his letters on this
particular morning slowly and abstractedly, tossing them into the fire,
one after the other, as he read them, and not paying very much attention
to their contents.

There was one, however, from his brother, "I wish you would ask me down
to Kynaston for a week or two, old fellow," wrote Maurice. "I know you
would mount me--now I have got rid of all my horses to please you--and
I should like a glimpse of the old country. Write and tell me if I shall
come down on Monday."

This letter Sir John did pay attention to. He rose hastily, as though not
a moment was to be lost, and answered it:--

"Dear Maurice,--I can't possibly have you down here yet. My own plans are
very uncertain, and if you are going to take your leave after Christmas,
you had far better not go away from your work now. If I am still here in
January, I shall be delighted if you will come down, and will mount you
as much as you like."

He was happier when he had written and directed this lette