“Oh, Evan can do anything,” said Andrew enthusiastically. “His father was a capital horseman, and taught him fencing, riding, and every accomplishment. You won’t find such a young fellow, my lady”
“The brother like him at all?” asked Lady Jocelyn, still eying the chase.
“Brother? He hasn’t got a brother,” said Andrew.
Lady Jocelyn continued: “I mean the present baronet.”
She was occupied with her glass, and did not observe the flush that took hold of Andrew’s ingenuous cheeks, and his hurried glance at and off the quiet eye of the Countess. Miss Carrington did observe it.
Mr. Andrew dashed his face under the palm of his hand, and murmured:
“Oh—yes! His brother-in-law isn’t much like him—ha! ha!”
And then the poor little man rubbed his hands, unconscious of the indignant pity for his wretched abilities in the gaze of the Countess; and he must have been exposed—there was a fear that the ghost of Sir Abraham would have darkened this day, for Miss Carrington was about to speak when Lady Jocelyn cried: “There’s a purl! Somebody’s down.”
The Countess was unaware of the nature of a purl, but she could have sworn it to be a piece of Providence.
“Just by old Nat Hodges’ farm, on Squire Copping’s ground,” cried Andrew, much relieved by the particular individual’s misfortune. “Dear me, my lady! how old Tom and I used to jump the brook there, to be sure! and when you were no bigger than little Miss Loring—do you remember old Tom? Egad we’re all fools one time in our lives!”
“Who can it be?” said Lady Jocelyn, spying at the discomfited horseman. “I’m afraid it’s poor Ferdinand.”
They drove on to an eminence from which the plain was entirely laid open.
“I hope my brother will enjoy his ride this day.” sighed the Countess. “It will be his limit of enjoyment for many days!”
She perceived that Mr. George’s capture was inevitable, and her heart sank; for she was sure he would recognise her, and at the moment she misdoubted her powers. She dreamed of flight.
“You’re not going to leave us?” said Lady Jocelyn. “My dear Countess, what will the future member do without you? We have your promise to stay till the election is over.”
“Thanks for your extreme kind courtesy, Lady Jocelyn,” murmured the Countess: “but my husband—the Count.”
“The favour is yours,” returned her ladyship. “And if the Count cannot come, you at least are at liberty.”
“You are most kind,” said the Countess.
“Andrew and his wife I should not dare to separate for more than a week,” said Lady Jocelyn. “He is the great British husband. The proprietor! ‘My wife’ is his unanswerable excuse.”
“Yes,” Andrew replied, cheerily. “I don’t like division between man and wife, I must say.”
The Countess dared no longer instance the Count, her husband. She was heard to murmur that citizen feelings were not hers.
“You suggested Fallowfield to Melville, did you not?” asked Lady Jocelyn.
“It was the merest suggestion,” said the Countess, smiling.
“Then you must really stay to see us through it,” said her ladyship. “Where are they now? They must be making straight for break-neck fence. They’ll have him there. George hasn’t pluck for that.”
“Hasn’t what?”
It was the Countess who requested to know the name of this other piece of Providence Mr. George Uploft was deficient in.
“Pluck—go,” said her ladyship, hastily, and telling the coachman to drive to a certain spot, trotted on with Andrew, saying to him: “I’m afraid we are thought vulgar by the Countess.”
Andrew considered it best to reassure her gravely.
“The young man, her brother, is well-bred,” said Lady Jocelyn, and Andrew was very ready to praise Evan.
Lady Jocelyn, herself in slimmer days a spirited horsewoman, had correctly estimated Mr. George’s pluck. He was captured by Harry and Evan close on the leap, in the act of shaking his head at it; and many who inspected the leap would have deemed it a sign that wisdom weighted the head that would shake long at it; for it consisted of a post and rails, with a double ditch.
Seymour Jocelyn, Mrs. Evremonde, Drummond, Jenny Gaine, and William Harvey, rode with Mr. George in quest of the carriage, and the captive was duly delivered over.
“But where’s the brush?” said Lady Jocelyn, laughing, and introducing him to the Countess, who dropped her head, and with it her veil.
“Oh! they leave that on for my next run,” said Mr. George, bowing civilly.
“You are going to run again?”
Miss Carrington severely asked this question; and Mr. George protested.
“Secure him, Louisa,” said Lady Jocelyn. “See here: what’s the matter with poor Dorothy?”
Dorothy came slowly trotting up to them along the green lane, and thus expressed her grief, between sobs:
“Isn’t it a shame? Rose is such a tyrant. They’re going to ride a race and a jump down in the field, and its break-neck leap, and Rose won’t allow me to stop and see it, though she knows I’m just as fond of Evan as she is; and if he’s killed I declare it will be her fault: and it’s all for her stupid, dirty old pocket-handkerchief!”
“Break-neck fence!” said Lady Jocelyn; “that’s rather mad.”
“Do let’s go and see it, darling Aunty Jocy,” pleaded the little maid.
Lady Jocelyn rode on, saying to herself: “That girl has a great deal of devil in her.” The lady’s thoughts were of Rose.
“Black Lymport ’d take the leap,” said Mr.