t it in hand; those invited being mostly
neighbouring landholders, all smaller men than himself, members of the
hunt; also the doctor from Evershead, and the like--some of them
rollicking blades whose presence his wife would not have countenanced had
she been at home. 'When the cat's away--!' said the Squire.

They arrived, and there were indications in their manner that they meant
to make a night of it. Baxby of Sherton Castle was late, and they waited
a quarter of an hour for him, he being one of the liveliest of Dornell's
friends; without whose presence no such dinner as this would be
considered complete, and, it may be added, with whose presence no dinner
which included both sexes could be conducted with strict propriety. He
had just returned from London, and the Squire was anxious to talk to
him--for no definite reason; but he had lately breathed the atmosphere in
which Betty was.

At length they heard Baxby driving up to the door, whereupon the host and
the rest of his guests crossed over to the dining-room. In a moment
Baxby came hastily in at their heels, apologizing for his lateness.

'I only came back last night, you know,' he said; 'and the truth o't is,
I had as much as I could carry.' He turned to the Squire. 'Well,
Dornell--so cunning Reynard has stolen your little ewe lamb? Ha, ha!'

'What?' said Squire Dornell vacantly, across the dining-table, round
which they were all standing, the cold March sunlight streaming in upon
his full-clean shaven face.

'Surely th'st know what all the town knows?--you've had a letter by this
time?--that Stephen Reynard has married your Betty? Yes, as I'm a living
man. It was a carefully-arranged thing: they parted at once, and are not
to meet for five or six years. But, Lord, you must know!'

A thud on the floor was the only reply of the Squire. They quickly
turned. He had fallen down like a log behind the table, and lay
motionless on the oak boards.

Those at hand hastily bent over him, and the whole group were in
confusion. They found him to be quite unconscious, though puffing and
panting like a blacksmith's bellows. His face was livid, his veins
swollen, and beads of perspiration stood upon his brow.

'What's happened to him?' said several.

'An apoplectic fit,' said the doctor from Evershead, gravely.

He was only called in at the Court for small ailments, as a rule, and
felt the importance of the situation. He lifted the Squire's head,
loosene