Quentin. In both cases Lady
Calmady wrote letters of congratulation, in the latter with very
sincere and lively pleasure. She held her cousin, General St. Quentin,
in affection for old sake's sake. Honoria she remembered as a
singularly graceful, high-bred, little maiden, fleet of foot as a
hind--too fleet of foot indeed for little Dickie's comfort of mind, and
therefore banished from the Brockhurst nursery. In the former case, her
congratulations being somewhat conventional, she added--in her own name
and that of Richard--a necklace of pearls, with a diamond clasp and
bars to it, of no mean value.

In the spring of 1865 Richard left Oxford for good, and took up his
residence once more at Brockhurst. But it was not until the autumn of
the following year, when he had reached the age of three-and-twenty,
and had already for some six months served his Queen and country in the
capacity of Justice of the Peace for the county of Southampton, that
any event occurred greatly affecting his fortunes, and therefore worthy
to set forth at large in this history.

CHAPTER II

TELLING HOW DICKIE'S SOUL WAS SOMEWHAT SICK, AND HOW HE MET FAIR WOMEN
ON THE CONFINES OF A WOOD

RICHARD CALMADY rode homeward through the autumn woods, and the aspect
of them was very lovely. But their loveliness was hectic, a loveliness
as it seemed, at all events at first sight, of death and burial, rather
than of life and hope. The sky was overcast, and a chill clung to the
stream side and haunted the hollows. The young man's humour,
unfortunately, was only too much in harmony with the more melancholy
suggestions of the scene. For Richard was by nature something of a
poet, though he but rarely wrote verses, and usually burned them as
soon as written, being scholar enough to know and feel impatient of the
"second best." And this inherent strain of poetry in him tempered the
active and practical side of his character, making wealth and position,
and all those things which the worldly-minded seek, seem of slight
value to him at times. It induced in him many and very varying moods.
It carried him back often, even now in the strength of his young
manhood, to the fine fancies and exquisite unreason of the fairy world
in which those so sadly ill-balanced footsteps of his had first been
set. To-day had proved, so far, an unlucky one, prolific of warfare
between his clear brain and all too sensitive heart. For it was the
burden of Richard's temperament-