of his nether garment;
as after a great deal of study he could only make out the resemblance
between himself and the obnoxious gamekeeper to consist in the leathern
breeches. But fearful of some points escaping his memory in forty years,
he tamely acquiesced in all John's alterations, and appeared at his
station three days afterwards newly decked from head to foot in a more
modern suit of snuff-color.

The change once made, Peter greatly admired himself in a glass, and
thought, could he have had the taste of Mr. John Moseley in his youth to
direct his toilet, that the hard heart of Patty Steele would not always
have continued so obdurate.

Sir Edward wished to collect his neighbors round him once more before he
left them for another four months; and accordingly the rector and his
wife, Francis and Clara, the Haughtons, with a few others, dined at the
Hall by invitation, the last day of their stay in Northamptonshire. The
company had left the table to join the ladies, when Grace came into the
drawing-room with a face covered with smiles and beaming with pleasure.

"You look like the bearer of good news, Mrs. Moseley," cried the rector,
catching a glimpse of her countenance as she passed.

"Good! I sincerely hope and believe," replied Grace. "My letters from my
brother announce that his marriage took place last week, and give us hopes
of seeing them all in town within the month."

"Married!" exclaimed Mr. Haughton, casting his eyes unconsciously on
Emily, "my Lord Chatterton married! May I ask the name of the bride, my
dear Mrs. Moseley?"

"To Lady Harriet Denbigh--and at Denbigh Castle in Westmoreland; but very
privately, as you may suppose from seeing Moseley and myself here,"
answered Grace, her cheeks yet glowing with surprise and pleasure at the
intelligence.

"Lady Harriet Denbigh?" echoed Mr. Haughton; "what! a kinswoman of our old
friend? _your_ friend, Miss Emily?" The recollection of the service he
had performed at the arbor still-fresh in his memory.

Emily commanded herself sufficiently to reply, "Brothers' children, I
believe, sir."

"But a _lady_--how came she my lady?" continued the good man, anxious to
know the whole, and ignorant of any reasons for delicacy where so great a
favorite as Denbigh was in the question.

"She is the daughter of the late Duke of Derwent," said Mrs. Moseley, as
willing as himself to talk of her new sister.

"How happens it that the death of old Mr. Denbigh was announ