He entered: Miss Langham's face was again hidden by the urn; but he had a side view of "that odious crop." Mrs. Langham inquired, with old-fashioned politeness, how he had passed the night; so did the Major. "Saw no ghosts?" and forthwith recommenced of "a most curious, I may say unaccountable, thing which happened to me when I was a little boy." It was long enough the previous evening; but at breakfast it was interminable, being ever and anon interrupted by spoonsful of egg;—"An egg is very light; I always eat one at breakfast;"—and by slices of toast, accompanied with "Never touch new bread; but toast is easily digested." A light, however, was thrown on the motive of their visit; for Horace was evidently aux petites soins with Caroline Langham.
After breakfast, all looked towards the windows; but the rain was pitiless, and the sky was of that sombre and unbroken dulness which bespeaks a whole day's rain, at least. The Major challenged Charles to a game at chess, of which nothing worse need be said, than that it began before ten, and lasted till half-past four; when, saying that it could be finished the next day, his opponent hurried Charles off with an injunction to try and dress in time for dinner.
He was dressed in ample time, for he had no motive to linger on the pleasant duties of the toilette—the only duties that I know of to which the term pleasant can be applied. The dinner was certainly the very perfection of a plain dinner, and to that Charles chiefly devoted his attention, taking especial care not to divert Miss Langham’s attention from Horace’s whispers by any indiscreet questions. The evening was again ruled by those three Fates, Spadille, Manille, and, Basto—but as they were separating for the night, Charles said to his friend, "Of course the least you can do for me will be to ask me to the wedding?"
Horace laughed, and said, "Well, poor little thing—I suppose I must take pity upon her some day or other. One comfort is, that when she is my wife, she cannot be so very fond of me."
No man likes to hear of the conquest of another, and Charles made no effort to prolong the conversation. The next morning was bright, as if the day were as glad as himself of their coming departure. He also most ingeniously out-manoeuvered the Major, by first approaching the window to admire the garden; next stepping out upon the turf, and then walking off as fast as he could, resolved that he would not be found till two-o'clock, when the stanhope was ordered to the door. The day was delightful—the sunshine entered into the spirits, and the soft warm air was freighted with odours from a garden prodigal in sweets.
From the flower-garden he wandered into a little wilderness which communicated with an orchard. Charles paused for a moment to admire the cherry-trees, covered with fruit, whose yellowish green was just beginning to wear a tinge of red on the side next the sun; when suddenly he espied the Major—gun in hand. He then remembered that he had been vowing vengeance against the sparrows at breakfast. The morning was too lovely to waste on stories of—"When I was a little boy;" so he darted behind a tree, and prepared to make his escape unseen. Now, whether his stir among the branches disturbed the birds, or whether the Major thought that he had carried his gun quite long enough without discharging it, we know not; but at that moment he fired. Charles received the shot in his leg, and, stumbling against a tree, struck his
