A grasp of his hand was the reply. " That
you have asked me to see you," said the
young nobleman, " is the highest gratification
I have ever received."

"We have no halls that give accommodation
to a county," said Winterton, with a smile;
"nor a collection of family portraits since
the days of Ethelwolf the Unready, when I
believe the art of portrait-painting had not
yet been invented — "

"You are too severe on my pride of
ancestry," interrupted the baron. "I assure
you I don't think less of any one else for
not having some of the blood of our Norman
kings in his veins."

"Nor would you think less of yourself if
you were in the same condition?" inquired
Winterton, taking his seat.

"No, I think not," hesitatingly replied the
noble.

"We shall see how philosophy comports
herself when she is put to the actual
proof," answered Winterton with a meaning
smile; and, touching the flank of his leader
with the slightest possible weight of the
whip, he bent forward and was soon out of
sight.

"I don't know how it is," said Normandale
to the young Earl of Fogleton, who had
maintained an admiring silence while the
conversation was going on; " but Winterton
always makes me wish I had been born a
snob. It must be so pleasant to have one's
way to make, without having it all macadamised
by other people."

"There I think I have the advantage,"
said Fogleton, " for my father was a lawyer,
and a tremendous snob. My grandfather
was a drysalter, in Wapping, and if I ever get
a dukedom it will be entirely by my own
merit."

Normandale dropped the arm of his brother
patrician when he heard this genealogical
revelation.

"What in heaven's name is a drysalter?"

"Upon my word I don't know," replied
his friend. " It seems to me a mythical sort
of ancestor, like Theseus among the Greeks."

A hurried visit home was all Lord
Normandale could afford to pay. He looked over
his grounds and his stables and his plantations;
but had no enjoyment. He longed for
society; but the neighbourhood was barren
and unprofitable. He sighed once more for
the company of Winterton, being one of those
natures which have a positive enjoyment
in feeling their inferiority. A note was
despatched to Mirables Rectory, and a place
secured on the Yorkshire coach. He slept
at Doncaster, and on the following day
started on foot for the object of his destination,
which was distant about fourteen miles.
Midway he was overtaken by a person on
horseback who pulled the rein to go more
slowly up hill. Normandale looked at the
equestrian. It was a woman with a large
basket hung to the horn of her saddle, and a
smaller one suspended on her arm. A thick
green veil sheltered her eyes from the sun
and concealed her features.

"Is there any short cut to Mirables
village?" he inquired.

"Noa, ye keep strat along the road,"
replied the woman.

"You seem to know the place. How far
is it off?"

"May be seven mile — may be more. It
depends on whether I ride Jobler or the
Marquis."

"How?"

"Why, I go right across when I ride the
Marquis — over hedge and ditch; but Jobler
must keep the road, and creep as you do."

So saying, she applied the spur to Jobler
and got him into a rapid pace.

"A pleasant voice in spite of the Yorkshire
accent," thought Normandale. " I wish she
had not gone away so soon. I should like
to have seen her face."

Through hedgerows and narrow lanes he
now pursued his way in obedience to a finger-
post at the side of the road. A little church
tower rose from a grove of elms; he
directed his steps to it, rounded a high wall,
and saw at one side of the churchyard a low
white-washed cottage, with narrow casement
windows and luxuriant shrubs, and flowers
climbing all over the rustic porch. The house
was old. It might be a farm-house, or a
retired tradesman's villa. There was a man
on a ladder halfway up the steep roof
repairing the thatch. Normandale asked him
where the parsonage was.

The man paused in his work; and leaving
a large handful of straw on the top of the
ladder, stepped lightly down.

"Normandale!" he said, "how delighted
I am to see you! This is our house. My
father will be enchanted; where are your
trunks?"

"They are to follow by a cart," replied
Normandale, returning the hearty pressure
of his friend's hand, though with no little
surprise at the appearance he presented.

"You are disappointed," said Winterton;
"you expected a greater show of outward
wealth. I told you what you would see;
you are sorry you came, because you think
this discovery of our position will be
embarrassing to us both. Not to me, I assure
you; and not to you after the first blow.
Come in! Try us for a day, and go away if
you are dissatisfied."

"Did you get a letter from me, announcing
my visit?"

"No, we only get our letters once a week.
Effy goes into market at Doncaster, and
brings letters and a newspaper along with
her beef and mutton. She should be here
by this time, unless she stays with the
Cooksons to dinner. And, by the bye, you
must be hungry after your walk. Will you
have some bread and cheese, and beer, or
wait till two when we dine?"