RUSTIC SYMPATHY. 157 



tiful sunny morning? No, no, dear Blanche, you will be 

 happier with them." 



" Do you wish me to leave you ? " 



" What a question ! " 



" Well, then," she said, " I would rather remain with you, 

 if I may, and as I promised to do." 



" And you shall, my own dear Blanche ; and now sit down 

 in this chair, and tell me all about your friend Vernon's run- 

 away match with Miss Mervyn, the particulars of which I 

 have not yet heard. Come nearer, Blanche, — indeed I won't 

 bite," said Beauchamp, laughing ; " and having promised Con- 

 stance not to speak on any exciting subject, I must not make 

 love ; so you are quite safe, dear girl." 



Encouraged by his frank though gentle manner, Blanche no 

 longer dreaded being left alone with her lover ; and their happy, 

 confiding looks, when Mrs. Gordon returned from her walk, 

 convinced her how pleasantly had passed the time they had 

 been left together. Lord Malcolm arrived in time for luncheon, 

 soon after which, in consideration of Will Beauchamp' s inflam- 

 matory symptoms, Mrs. Gordon took her leave, forbidding him 

 to leave the house until she called again. 



CHAPTER XYI. 



The breaking up of the frost, the same evening, set the fox- 

 hunters once more in motion, and the first open day being as 

 usual advertised for the kennels, a large assemblage of sports- 

 men mustered at Bampton, where genuine hospitality always 

 awaited them, and sincere congratulations were offered to the 

 old squire on his son's narrow escape. The farmers especially, 

 when William Beauchamp walked out on the lawn among 

 them, pressed round him, all eager to shake hands and testify 

 their almost unbounded delight at having their favourite 

 restored to them. 



" Ah, squire," exclaimed Farmer Stiles, " it made my heart 

 nearly jump up into my mouth when John Gubbins brought 

 the news, the next morning, that you were shot and lying at the 

 Priory — it hit me up all of a heap, squire, and I shook and 

 trembled like an aspen tree. ' Why, maister,' said John, ' what's 

 the matter wi' ye? you do look flabbergasted loike — shakes 



