if he behaves like a gentleman before his fellows,
he becomes one, and the noblest work of our
common Creator. That's the religion I was
brought up in! I have been in St. Alans for
ten years, now," he went on. "I was a boy
there, and came back like the hare. I suppose I
shall die there. They'll stow me away in the
cathedral somewhere. They're always glad to
get a gentleman. I keep my family there too,
sir—wife and daughters—pleasant house, good
air. No state—none in the world. You know
where the White Hart is? Not very far from
the bank."

"Yes," cried Mr. Tillotson, a little eagerly,
"I have heard of that. Not doing much, I
believe? They are old fashioned and behind the
time. They want working up to the new
principles."

"No doubt—no doubt," said the other. "New
or old, my dear sir, it's all one to me. I am
ashamed to say I am genteel enough never to
have had a balance anywhere. Can't do it—
can't go about it."

Mr. Tillotson was presently asking many
questions about the men of the place and local
matters, and whether it was going back or
"coming on," and got curious parti-coloured
answers, containing a little of the information he
wanted, all mottled over with references to old
days and fine society, and to the late William the
Fourth when Dook of Clarence. "Tickets here,"
he said, interrupting himself. "This is St. Alans.
You take a machine here, put the traps on the
top, and bowl away to the town. Here, George,
see to this gentleman's things." And in a
moment he was on the platform, stepping here and
there with a slight "stiffness," and Mr. Tillotson
saw this from the narrow back, and long limbs—
and switching the air with his gold-headed cane.
"I'll ask you for a seat," said he, "down to the
town. These limbs of mine are a little tired, as
all limbs are at, my stage of life. White Hart,
driver."

It was the ancient old-fashioned English
country and county town, in which someway the
gaudy host of grocers' shops seem to thrive
most and be most conspicuous, and books to
have a feeble, languid, unhealthy existence.

"You find us," said Mr. Tilney, as they came
down a by-street, "rather in undress. The
roughs here must have their politics. The Law—
the Law, sir"—and Mr. Tilney raised his hat as
if he were mentioning a sacred name—"the Law
has its hold upon Salisbury now. The majesty
of our constitution which, if you compare it
with that of France, Italy, or any other tropical
country under the blessings of which we live,
is about to be vindicated. Rich and poor, poor
and rich, are all one there. The assizes, Mr.
Tillotson, will be on in a week or so. The grand
inquest will be sworn to-morrow."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mr. Tillotson, absently.

"I know it," said Mr. Tilney, as if this
abstraction implied doubt. " I had it from
Wagstaff, the clerk. And a heavy calendar;
some heavy cases; and one of extraordinary
interest, most singular, in which young Filby,
quartered here, and, I am told, a second cousin
to Lady Frogmore, is mixed up. It will be
taken second or third."

"And what was this affair?" asked Mr.
Tillotson, bound to show some curiosity.

"Oh, foolish, foolish! Coming home from
the races on a mail phaeton, these young fellows,
who, I happen to know, are connected with some
of the best houses in the county, began to throw
orange-peel about—some say oranges. A
grocer, in a small way, and called Duckett, is at
his door, and is hit or splashed. Well, now,
instead of doing as you or I would, going quietly
back to our shops, to our scales and beams, and
tea, and that sort of line, Duckett must go and
bluster, and naturally young Filby, who is a
high-spirited boy (his father, between ourselves,
went off with a maid of honour), and the others,
of course give it to him: and the result is, he
gets it."

"And he brings an action?"

"And he brings an action. Quite right,"
said Mr. Tilney. "Our wild relation, Ross,
harum-scarum fellow, mixed up in it too, who,
by the way, has his hands full enough. Here we
are. I'll tell you all about that further on.
Remind me, though."

"You must take us as you find us," continued
Mr. Tilney, apologising for the town. " We shall
do better by-and-by. I am not ashamed to identify
myself with a rising place of this sort. Town is
really my place. Town air suits my lungs; but
I believe in poor old St. Alans. Here we are.
White Hart. A very good house. Where's
Hiscoke?"

       CHAPTER II. THE WHITE HART.

THE White Hart was a great old inn, with
good connexions on all sides. It had a healthy
old age, and, until the fatal day when a modern
grand railway hotel was to burst into life, would
stride on healthily, just as there are old men the
admiration of their friends for their spirit, and
who are always described as "hale old men."
But one day the hale old man falls in, and shrinks
up like a rotten apple. This inn had some
architectural ambition, had great rooms, where the
grandfather of the present Lord Rooksby had
danced with his contemporaries, and where the
same nobleman had dined riotously and held his
election committees; where, as the Honourable
Mr. Ridley, he "fought the battle of the Tories
for seven days!" Now, the present Lord Rooksby
always went up to London to dine, "put in" his
son, the young Hon. Ridley, in a morning, with-
out expense, had no generous feeling arising cut
of the past for the White Hart, and fought no
battles for Tories, or any one, indeed, but for
himself and his family.

When Hiscoke had been found and solemnly
charged to take all care of the stranger, Mr.
Tillotson said, hesitatingly, that if he would stay
and take share of the dinner, he would lay him
under an obligation. Mr. Tilney consented