hich men to send in first to the wickets.

One of these stood suddenly on tiptoe, and pointing to the pair on
horseback, cried, with the vivacity of astonishment:

'Look there! do you see that? What the deuce is little Rosey doing with
the tailor-fellow?'

The Countess, though her cheeks were blanched, gazed calmly in
Demogorgon's face, took a mental impression of the speaker, and again
signalled for Beckley.

CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION

Now, to clear up a point or two: You may think the Comic Muse is
straining human nature rather toughly in making the Countess de Saldar
rush open-eyed into the jaws of Demogorgon, dreadful to her. She has
seen her brother pointed out unmistakeably as the tailor-fellow. There
is yet time to cast him off or fly with him. Is it her extraordinary
heroism impelling her onward, or infatuated rashness? or is it her mere
animal love of conflict?

The Countess de Saldar, like other adventurers, has her star. They
who possess nothing on earth, have a right to claim a portion of the
heavens. In resolute hands, much may be done with a star. As it has
empires in its gift, so may it have heiresses. The Countess's star had
not blinked balefully at her. That was one reason why she went straight
on to Beckley.

Again: the Countess was a born general. With her star above, with
certain advantages secured, with battalions of lies disciplined and
zealous, and with one clear prize in view, besides other undeveloped
benefits dimly shadowing forth, the Countess threw herself headlong into
the enemy's country.

But, that you may not think too highly of this lady, I must add that
the trivial reason was the exciting cause--as in many great enterprises.
This was nothing more than the simple desire to be located, if but for
a day or two, on the footing of her present rank, in the English
country-house of an offshoot of our aristocracy. She who had moved
in the first society of a foreign capital--who had married a Count, a
minister of his sovereign, had enjoyed delicious high-bred badinage with
refulgent ambassadors, could boast the friendship of duchesses, and
had been the amiable receptacle of their pardonable follies; she who,
moreover, heartily despised things English:--this lady experienced
thrills of proud pleasure at the prospect of being welcomed at a
third-rate English mansion. But then, that mansion was Beckley Court. We
return to our first ambitions, as to our