rse, the clock of the church
was striking four. My man had to help me to my saddle, for, what with
the sudden change of air, added to the excesses of the evening, I was
not steady enough to do it myself. My man was the son of an old tenant
of my father's, and as he had known me from childhood, I was used to
allowing him more familiarity than most gentlemen allow to their
servants. I was, therefore, not surprised when, on reaching my
quarters, after helping me to alight, he stopped a moment to speak to me
before I entered the house.

"`By your leave, Master Hal,' said he, saluting, `I thought you might
like to know there is bad news from Culverton.'

"`How?' I demanded, scarcely taking in what he said.

"`Bad news, begging your honour's pardon. I had it in a letter from
Phoebe, the dairymaid at the Vicarage, who your honour may know is my
sweetheart, or rather I am hers; and by your--'

"`Sirrah, man, drop your sweetheart and come to your news! What is it?'

"`It is news of the squire, Master Hal!' said the man, seriously.

"`My father!' I exclaimed, suddenly sobered by the name.

"`He is ill, please your honour. He had a stroke a week ago, and Phoebe
says his life is despaired of.'

"`Ill a week, and I never heard!' I exclaimed. `Why did no one tell
me?'

"`Your honour may remember you have not examined your letters for these
three days past.'

"It was true. In the whirl of excitement, with late nights and later
mornings, and never-ending frivolity, my very letters had lain on my
mantelshelf unopened!

"My man turned to take my horse away to the stable. His action recalled
me suddenly to myself.

"`Hold!' I said; `leave the horse here, Tucker, and help me into the
saddle again.'

"Tucker gazed at me in astonishment, but did as he was bid.

"`I am going to Culverton,' I said, shortly, taking up the reins.

"`To Culverton! At this hour, and in this weather!' said Tucker, in
tones of alarm. `Stay at any rate till you have had a night's rest, for
you need it, master, and till I can put up what you need for the
journey.'

"`Let go my horse, man!' I cried, excitedly, setting spurs to the
animal and abruptly ending the honest fellow's remonstrance.

"The thought of my father lying ill, dying perhaps, and me here
revelling in Ogilby, made it impossible for me to contemplate a moment's
delay, even so much as to change my gay attire or provide myself with
necessaries for the journey. Culvert