ring while he lifted her steadily but strongly into her saddle, and,
when there, it was he who had instructed her that a horse was not a
machine, that galloping tires it in time, and that galloping it on
the hard road hammers it to pieces. "I taught the girl," thought James
within himself.

This honest silver-haired old fellow seemed so ridiculous to Colander,
the smooth, supercilious Londoner, that he deigned sometimes to converse
with James, in order to quiz him. This very morning they had had a
conversation.

"Poor Miss Mabel! dear heart. A twelvemonth married, and nigh six months
of it a widow, or next door."

"We write to her, James, and entertain her replies, which are at
considerable length."

"Ay, but we don't read 'em!" said James, with an uneasy glance at the
tray.

"Invariably, at our leisure; meantime we make ourselves happy among the
wits and the sirens."

"And she do make others happy among the poor and the ailing."

"Which shows," said Colander, superciliously, "the difference of
tastes."

Burdock, whose eye had never been off his mistress's handwriting, at
last took it up and said: "Master Colander, do if ye please, sir, take
this into master's dressing-room, do now?"

Colander looked down on the missive with dilating eye. "Not a bill,
James Burdock," said he, reproachfully.

"A bill! bless ye, no. A letter from missus."

No, the dog would not take it in to his master; and poor James, with a
sigh, replaced it in the tray.

This James Burdock, then, was left in charge of the hall by Colander,
and it so happened that the change was hardly effected before a hurried
knocking came to the street door.

"Ay, ay!" grumbled Burdock, "I thought it would not be long. London for
knocking and ringing all day, and ringing and knocking all night." He
opened the door reluctantly and suspiciously, and in darted a lady,
whose features were concealed by a hood. She glided across the hall,
as if she was making for some point, and old James shuffled after her,
crying: "Stop, stop! young woman. What is your name, young woman?"

"Why, James Burdock," cried the lady, removing her hood, "have you
forgotten your mistress?"

"Mistress! Why, Miss Mabel, I ask your pardon, madam--here, John,
Margery!"

"Hush!" cried Mrs. Vane.

"But where are your trunks, miss? And where's the coach, and Darby and
Joan? To think of their drawing you all the way here! I'll have 'em into
your room directly, ma'am. Miss, you've