hrough
the others before breakfast. Laura thought it very true that, as Philip
said, he was only a boy, and moralized to Charlotte on his being the
same age as herself--very nearly eighteen. Mrs. Edmonstone told Charles
it was a treat to see any one so happy, and when he began to chafe at
the delay, did her best to beguile the time, but without much success.
Guy had ever learned to wait patiently, and had a custom of marching up
and down, and listening with his head thrown back, or, as Charles used
to call it, 'prancing in the hall.'

If Mrs. Edmonstone's patience was tried by the preparation for the hunt
in the morning, it was no less her lot to hear of it in the evening. Guy
came home in the highest spirits, pouring out his delight to every one,
with animation and power of description giving all he said a charm. The
pleasure did not lose by repetition; he was more engrossed by it
every time; and no one could be more pleased with his ardour than Mr.
Edmonstone, who, proud of him and his riding, gave a sigh to past hopes
of poor Charles, and promoted the hunting with far more glee that he had
promoted the reading.

The Redclyffe groom, William, whose surname of Robinson was entirely
forgotten in the appellation of William of Deloraine, was as proud of
Sir Guy as Mr. Edmonstone could be; but made representations to his
master that he must not hunt Deloraine two days in the week, and ride
him to Broadstone two more. Guy then walked to Broadstone; but
William was no better pleased, for he thought the credit of Redclyffe
compromised, and punished him by reporting Deloraine not fit to be
used next hunting day. Mr. Edmonstone perceived that Guy ought to have
another hunter; Philip heard of one for sale, and after due inspection
all admired--even William, who had begun by remarking that there might
be so many screw-looses about a horse, that a man did not know what to
be at with them.

Philip, who was conducting the negotiation, came to dine at Hollywell to
settle the particulars. Guy was in a most eager state; and they and Mr.
Edmonstone talked so long about horses, that they sent Charles to sleep;
his mother began to read, and the two elder girls fell into a low,
mysterious confabulation of their own till they were startled by a
question from Philip as to what could engross them so deeply.

'It was,' said Laura, 'a banshee story in Eveleen de Courcy's last
letter.'

'I never like telling ghost stories to people who don