ar, Mr.
George had been in the habit of trotting over to Beckley three or four
times a week. Miss Carrington had a little money: Mr. George was heir to
his uncle. Miss Carrington was lean and blue-eyed.

Mr. George was black-eyed and obese. By everybody, except Mr. George,
the match was made: but that exception goes for little in the country,
where half the population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely
devote themselves to continuing the species. Mr. George was certain that
he had not been fighting shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had
he been unfaithful. He had only been in an extraordinary state of
occupation. Messages for Lady Racial had to be delivered, and he
had become her cavalier and escort suddenly. The young squire was
bewildered; but as he was only one leg in love--if the sentiment may be
thus spoken of figuratively--his vanity in his present office kept him
from remorse or uneasiness.

He rode at an easy pace within sight of the home of his treasure, and
his back turned to it. Presently there rose a cry from below. Mr. George
looked about. The party of horsemen hallooed: Mr. George yoicked. Rose
set her horse to gallop up; Seymour Jocelyn cried 'fox,' and gave
the view; hearing which Mr. George shouted, and seemed inclined to
surrender; but the fun seized him, and, standing up in his stirrups, he
gathered his coat-tails in a bunch, and waggled them with a jolly laugh,
which was taken up below, and the clamp of hoofs resounded on the turf
as Mr. George led off, after once more, with a jocose twist in his seat,
showing them the brush mockingly. Away went fox, and a mad chase began.
Seymour acted as master of the hunt. Rose, Evan, Drummond, and Mrs.
Evremonde and Dorothy, skirted to the right, all laughing, and full of
excitement. Harry bellowed the direction from above. The ladies in the
carriage, with Lady Jocelyn and Andrew, watched them till they flowed
one and all over the shoulder of the down.

'And who may the poor hunted animal be?' inquired the Countess.

'George Uplift,' said Lady Jocelyn, pulling out her watch. 'I give him
twenty minutes.'

'Providence speed him!' breathed the Countess, with secret fervour.

'Oh, he hasn't a chance,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'The squire keeps wretched
beasts.'

'Is there not an attraction that will account for his hasty capture?'
said the Countess, looking tenderly at Miss Carrington, who sat a little
straighter, and the Countess, hating manifesta