rode round his grounds, and grew quite desperate that chance did not befriend me.—One morning, riding through a narrow valley, accompanied by one servant only, I met a Gentleman with a gun, and an English pointer running by his side. As he advanced I saw a young man, of a noble air, and an engaging countenance; struck with a presentiment that this must be the Count, I accosted him, and inquired to whom that mansion, whose turrets we saw through the trees, and the neighbouring grounds, belonged?
"To Count M***, Sir (replied he, eying me with a scrutinizing look:) Are you a stranger in this country that you ask the question?"
"I am (answered I) having resided in these parts only a fortnight."
"A fortnight! (repeated he, with some emotion) you are on a visit then I suppose?"
"No; I came here for that purpose, but found my good friend dead, the late Count Zimchaw."
