with a pretty anxiety, which, however, had
not much doubt in it, for the answer.

With every encouragement of this kind
from the old Squire, it took everybody rather
by surprise when one morning it was discovered
that Miss Catherine Hearn was missing;
and when, according to the usual fashion in
such cases, a note was found, saying that she
had eloped with "the man of her heart," and
gone to Gretna Green, no one could imagine
why she could not quietly have stopped at
home and been married in the parish church.
She had always been a romantic, sentimental
girl; very pretty, and very affectionate,
and very much spoiled, and very much wanting
in common sense. Her indulgent father
was deeply hurt at this want of confidence
in his never-varying affection; but when his
son came, hot with indignation from the
Baronet's (his future father-in-law's house,
where every form of law and ceremony was
to accompany his own impending marriage,)
Squire Hearn pleaded the cause of the young
couple with imploring cogency, and protested
that it was a piece of spirit in his daughter,
which he admired and was proud of.
However, it ended with Mr. Nathaniel Hearn's
declaring that he and his wife would have
nothing to do with his sister and her
husband. "Wait till you've seen him, Nat!" said
the old Squire, trembling with his distressful
anticipations of family discord, "He's an
excuse for any girl. Only ask Sir Harry's
opinion of him." "Confound Sir Harry!
So that a man sits his horse well. Sir Harry
cares nothing about anything else. Who is
this man—this fellow? Where does he come
from? What are his means? Who are his
family?"

*' He comes from the south—Surrey or
Somersetshire, I forget which; and he pays
his way well and liberally. There's not a
tradesman in Barford but says he cares no
more for money than for water; he spends
like a prince, Nat. I don't know who his
family are, but he seals with a coat of arms,
which may tell you if you want to know,—
and he goes regularly to collect his rents
from his estates in the south. Oh, Nat! if
you would but be friendly, I should be as
well pleased with Kitty's marriage as any
father in the country."

Mr. Nathaniel Hearn gloomed, and
muttered an oath or two to himself. The poor
old father was reaping the consequences of
his weak indulgence to his two children.
Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Hearn kept apart
from Catherine and her husband; and Squire
Hearn durst never ask them to Levison Hall,
though it was his own house. Indeed, he
stole away as if he were a culprit whenever
he went to visit the White House; and if he
passed a night there, he was fain to equivocate
when he returned home the next day; an
equivocation which was well interpreted by
the surly, proud Nathaniel. But the younger
Mr. and Mrs. Hearn were the only people
who did not visit at the White House. Mr.
and Mrs. Higgins were decidedly more popular
than their brother and sister-in-law. She
made a very pretty sweet-tempered hostess,
and her education had not been such as to
make her intolerant of any want of refinement
in the associates who gathered round
her husband. She had gentle smiles for
towns-people as well as country people; and
unconsciously played an admirable second in
her husband's project of making himself
universally popular.

But there is some one to make ill-natured
remarks, and draw ill-natured conclusions
from very simple premises, in every place;
and in Barford this bird of ill-omen was a
Miss Pratt. She did not hunt—so Mr.
Higgins's admirable riding did not call out her
admiration. She did not drink—so the well-
selected wines, so lavishly dispensed among
his guests, could never mollify Miss Pratt.
She could not bear comic songs, or buffo
stories—so, in that way, her approbation
was impregnable. And these three secrets
of popularity constituted Mr. Higgins's great
charm. Miss Pratt sat and watched. Her
face looked immoveably grave at the end of
any of Mr. Higgins's best stories; but there
was a keen, needle-like glance of her
unwinking little eyes, which Mr. Higgins felt
rather than saw, and which made him shiver,
even on a hot day, when it fell upon him.
Miss Pratt was a dissenter, and, to propitiate
this female Mordecai, Mr. Higgins asked the
dissenting minister whose services she
attended to dinner; kept himself and his
company in good order; gave a handsome donation
to the poor of the chapel. All in vain
—Miss Pratt stirred not a muscle more of
her face towards graciousness; and Mr.
Higgins was conscious that, in spite of all his
open efforts to captivate Mr. Davis, there
was a secret influence on the other side,
throwing in doubts and suspicions, and evil
interpretations of all he said or did. Miss
Pratt, the little plain old maid, living on
eighty pounds a year, was the thorn in the
popular Mr. Higgins's side, although she had
never spoken one uncivil word to him;
indeed, on the contrary, had treated him with
a stiff and elaborate civility.

The thorn—the grief to Mrs. Higgins was
this. They had no children! Oh! how she
would stand and envy the careless busy
motion of half-a-dozen children; and then, when
observed, move on with a deep, deep sigh of
yearning regret. But it was as well.

It was noticed that Mr. Higgins was
remarkably careful of his health. He ate, drank,
took exercise, rested, by some secret rules of
his own; occasionally bursting into an excess,
it is true, but only on rare occasions—such
as when he returned from visiting his estates
in the south, and collecting his rents. That
unusual exertion and fatigue—for there were
no stage coaches within forty miles of Barford,
and he, like most country gentlemen of the