e
beloved breast. It had already discharged one that had parted them for
a time, and nearly killed Sir Charles.

Daylight cleared away much of this dark terror, but left a sober dread
and a strange resolution. This timid creature, stimulated by love,
determined to watch the foe, and defend her husband with all her little
power. All manner of devices passed through her head, but were
rejected, because, if Love said "Do wonders," Timidity said "Do nothing
that you have not seen other wives do." So she remained, scheming, and
longing, and fearing, and passive, all day. But the next day she
conceived a vague idea, and, all in a heat, rang for her maid. While
the maid was coming she fell to blushing at her own boldness, and, just
as the maid opened the door, her thermometer fell so low that--she sent
her upstairs for a piece of work. Oh, lame and impotent conclusion!

Just before luncheon she chanced to look through a window, and to see
the head gamekeeper crossing the park, and coming to the house. Now
this was the very man she wanted to speak to. The sudden temptation
surprised her out of her timidity. She rang the bell again, and sent
for the man.

That Colossus wondered in his mind, and felt uneasy at an invitation so
novel. However, he clattered into the morning-room, in his velveteen
coat, and leathern gaiters up to his thigh, pulled his front hair,
bobbed his head, and then stood firm in body as was he of Rhodes, but
in mind much abashed at finding himself in her ladyship's presence.

The lady, however, did not prove so very terrible. "May I inquire your
name, sir?" said she, very respectfully.

"Moses Moss, my lady."

"Mr. Moss, I wish to ask you a question or two. _May_ I?"

"That you may, my lady."

"I want you to explain, if you will be so good, how the proprietor of
'Splatchett's' can shoot all Sir Charles's pheasants."

"Lord! my lady, we ain't come down to that. But he do shoot more than
his share, that's sure an' sartain. Well, my lady, if you please, game
is just like Christians: it will make for sunny spots. Highmore has got
a many of them there, with good cover; so we breeds for him. As for
'Splatchett's,' that don't hurt we, my lady; it is all arable land and
dead hedges, with no bottom; only there's one little tongue of it runs
into North Wood, and planted with larch; and, if you please, my lady,
there is always a kind of coarse grass grows under young larches, and
makes a strong cover for game