ter the horse and rider until they passed slowly out of sight;
then, coming back to the porch, he sat down among the farmers, and
listened, abstractedly, to the drawling voice of Jack Hicks.

When Champe reached Chericoke, he saw Betty looking for him from Aunt
Emmeline's window seat; and as he dismounted, she ran out and joined him
upon the steps.

"And you saw him?" she asked breathlessly.

"It was pleasant to think that you came to meet me for my own sake," he
returned; and at her impatient gesture, caught her hand and looked into her
eyes.

"I saw him, my dear," he said, "and he was in a temper that would have
proved his descent had he been lost in infancy."

She eagerly questioned him, and he answered with forbearing amusement. "Is
that all?" she asked at last, and when he nodded, smiling, she went up to
Mrs. Lightfoot's bedside and besought her "to make the Major listen to
reason."

"He never listened to it in his life, my child," the old lady replied, "and
I think it is hardly to be expected of him that he should begin at his
present age." Then she gathered, bit by bit, the news that Champe had
brought, and ended by remarking that "the ways of men and boys were past
finding out."

"Do you think the Major will ever forgive him?" asked Betty, hopelessly.

"He never forgave poor Jane," answered Mrs. Lightfoot, her voice breaking
at the mention of her daughter. "But whether he forgives him or not, the
silly boy must be made to come home; and as soon as I am out of this bed,
I must get into the coach and drive to that God-forsaken tavern. After ten
years, nothing will content them, I suppose, but that I should jolt my
bones to pieces."

Betty looked at her anxiously. "When will you be up?" she inquired,
flushing, as the old lady's sharp eyes pierced her through.

"I really think, my dear, that you are less sensible than I took you to
be," returned Mrs. Lightfoot. "It was very foolish of you to allow yourself
to take a fancy to Dan. You should have insisted upon preferring Champe,
as I cautioned you to do. In entering into marriage it is always well to
consider first, family connections and secondly, personal disposition; and
in both of these particulars there is no fault to be found with Champe. His
mother was a Randolph, my child, which is greatly to his credit. As for
Dan, I fear he will make anything but a safe husband."

"Safe!" exclaimed Betty indignantly, "did you marry the Major because he
was 'saf