CHAPTER I.

COMING EVENTS.

Towards the middle of December, 1878, a dog-cart might have been seen standing outside the small station of Newcome, in Slopshire. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the turn-out—a goodish-looking animal in the shafts and a certain air of neatness stamped it as belonging to a gentleman, but beyond that there was no particular feature to attract attention. No gaudy red wheels, nothing dazzling in the way of "picking out;" simply an ordinary[Pg 288] dog-cart, which had come down from Belton Hall to meet the 5.35 train from London.

Belton Hall, an old Elizabethan mansion, belonged to the Vivians, was inhabited by Colonel George Vivian and his daughter Mildred, and they were expecting two visitors, who had been asked to the Hall for Christmas and hunting—one, Jack Vivian, the Colonel's nephew; the other, a Mr. Thomas Simpson, who was known to the world in general to be following that calling which covers a multitude of sins, which means so much yet expresses so little, viz. "something in the City."

Colonel Vivian was as keen a sportsman and as good a man to hounds as there was in Slopshire, and his daughter followed closely in his footsteps—too closely sometimes, for on one occasion, when the Colonel came down at a stiffish stake-and-bound fence, Mildred, unable to stop in time, jumped right on the top of him, her horse's near hind-foot going slap through the crown of his new hat, which[Pg 289] luckily did not at the moment contain her father's head.

Belton was therefore a certain find, and the Master, knowing this, always had a fixture there in the Christmas week.

Both Mildred and her father were too apt to gauge a man by his powers of getting over a country, and woe betide any unfortunate individual who had been seen to exhibit any—well, I will say hesitation—when hounds were running. If he happened to be staying at the Hall, he was chaffed most unmercifully, and under any other circumstances he was immediately set down in the mental tablets of the Vivians as a man who was not worth knowing.

There was but little fear of Jack not coming up to the mark in the way of riding, for, born and brought up in the country, his first recollections were associated with hounds, and his earliest lessons comprised "the run of a fox." Of late years he had not been able to hunt as much as he would have liked,[Pg 290] for there were two fatal objections in his way—want of time and want of money.

Jack Vivian was a barrister, and a hard-working one withal. He had got his foot on the second rung of the ladder of success and meant going upwards; therefore he had little time for play, and but a small balance of spare cash; so it was only now and again that he could snatch a brief holiday, and, finding neck and spurs against a friend's horse, engage in his favourite pursuit. Notwithstanding this, there were few men who would care to back themselves against Jack across country, and there was probably not one (old Jim the Huntsman excepted) who knew more about a fox or what hounds were doing.

Mr. Simpson, on the other hand, was rolling in wealth, and as his "something in the City" did not occupy much of his time, he tried in every way to assume the appearance of a country gentleman, and to be considered a modern Nimrod.

[Pg 291]

Somehow, though, his three hundred-guinea hunters did not carry Mr. Simpson to the end, and it was marvellous the extraordinary and unforeseen obstacles that had prevented his appearance at the death.

Rivers suddenly had sprung up where none had been known before, and six-foot posts and rails, with broad double ditches, had caused Mr. Simpson alone to tarry on his course. In other words he was an arrant "funk," though of course he would not have acknowledged the soft impeachment.

It was, as you may think, very odd that such a man should be the guest of so ardent a sportsman as the owner of Belton, but it happened thus. The previous year the Colonel and his daughter were staying in Leicestershire, and at a friend's house they met Mr. Simpson. So taken up with admiring his horses was the Colonel that he either omitted to look at the owner, or else invested him with a halo which was the overflow of the equine worship.

[Pg 292]

Besides, open house, hunters five days a week for himself and daughter, and a large establishment, were not to be maintained for nothing; and the Colonel, in the matter of ￡ s. d., was a remarkably practical man, and had no objection to the possibility of a rich son-in-law, even though he might be "in the City."

Therefore, for Christmas week, Simpson and his horses were offered bed and board at Belton; and already, in his own mind, had Mr. S. drawn up a deed of partnership, with Miss Vivian as the Co., for he had been completely knocked out of time at the first sight of Mildred, and had fallen head over ears in—what he was pleased to call—love. What his chances of success were may be gathered from the following conversation, which took place in the drawing-room after the dog-cart had gone down to the station.

Mildred—it was a non-hunting day—was seated in a low easy-chair, occupied with five-o'clock tea, and by her side, on a cushion,[Pg 293] reclined her cousin Ethel, a young girl of sixteen, while opposite was the Rev. Mr. Wilton, the clergyman of the place—one of the old school of sporting parsons, who was good for a fast twenty minutes either in the field or the pulpit; and though he had, for fifty odd years, hunted regularly four days a-week, there was not a man, woman, or child in the parish whose every trouble was not known to him, and there was not one of them who would not willingly have given up everything to help their idol, "t' owd parson."

With his back to the fire stood the Colonel, engaged in conversation with Florence Wingfield, sister to the expected Jack. She was staying in the house with her husband, Captain Tom Wingfield, of the 23rd Hussars, who at this moment was trying a new purchase by riding over to the kennels, some ten miles away.

"Which room has Mr. Simpson got, Milly?" said the Colonel suddenly.

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"The best bachelor's room, papa," replied the young lady; "I put him there because I thought the gorgeous pattern of the new carpet you chose would suit his taste, and I have hung up some of those old sporting prints for him to take a lesson from."

"And what room has Jack got?" continued the Colonel, not best pleased at the impression his intended guest had produced on his daughter.

"Oh, dear old Jack has, of course, his own room. Florence arranged it just as it used to be, and before tea came I saw the fire was all right."

"I suppose you did not happen to see if Mr. Simpson's fire was all right, Mildred?" said Mr. Wilton, with a sly twinkle in his eye.

"No; Ethel did that," she replied, laughing; "besides, with that red face he can't be cold."

"Milly, never judge by appearances,"[Pg 295] interrupted Mrs. Wingfield, who saw by her uncle's face that the conversation was not particularly agreeable to him. Woman-like, she had read him like a book; and, though willing to keep the peace, she had long ago made up her mind that Mildred was to be her brother's wife or an old maid—aut C?sar aut nihil; and having settled this, she set herself down to carry out her plans.

"Who is talking about judging by appearances?" put in a manly voice, as Tom Wingfield, somewhat muddy of coat, walked into the room.

"I was," said his wife. "I was telling Milly not to judge by appearances, for I thought you a nice fellow once, and—ahem!—I was taken in by your appearance."

"All right, Mrs. Impudence," retorted Tom; "no hunting for you. I thought I had two beautiful ladies' hunters, but I was deceived by appearances. Anyhow, let me have a cup of tea. I have given my new nag a lesson he won't forget. He refused[Pg 296] that fence out of the road by the windmill, and put me down twice; then tried to bolt for Paradise Hill, but after a fight we got on terms, and he goes like an angel now."

"I must make a note of that, Wingfield," interrupted Mr. Wilton. "It is a curious coincidence of an animal being stopped on its way to Paradise, yet suddenly becoming an angel."

"Capital text for next Sunday, Wilton," said the Colonel. "But hark! I hear the dog-cart, and here they come round the corner of the drive."

"Oh Lord!" ejaculates Tom; "can anyone tell me how gray shirtings are? Must talk to a man who is in the City about shirtings or backwardations, you know. I'll ask Jack what he gave for his flannel shirts."

Amid the shouts of laughter which followed this sally the door opened, and the butler announced: "Mr. Simpson and Master Jack."

[Pg 297]
CHAPTER II.

OF THE CITY CIVIC.

"Delighted to see you, Mr. Simpson," said the Colonel, taking that gentleman's somewhat flabby hand, and introducing him to the others in turn. "Ah Jack, my boy, how are you? I have such a horse for you; but no spurs allowed, mind."

"All right, uncle," replied Jack, coming to the fire; "I'll remember. But how are you all? Florence, you are getting most abominably fat. Why, Milly, ain't you going to say How do you do to me?—not that way," as Mildred put out her hand. "I ask you, is that the way to welcome your long-lost cousin? Come to my arms"—a proceeding that he promptly tried to put into force, and had he not stumbled head over heels over Ethel, who from her position on the[Pg 298] ground he had not noticed, would have succeeded in his endeavour.

As it was, like a drowning man, he clutched at the first thing that came to hand, which, happening to be Simpson's coat-tail, brought that worthy gentleman down with him, and cut short the polite little speech he was about to address to Mildred.

It was rather hard lines on the unfortunate individual, for all the way down in the train he had been (when Jack's eye was not upon him) rehearsing it, and now it was lost for ever.

"I beg your ten thousand pardons, Simpson," said Jack, struggling to his feet. "Why, it's Ethel. What on earth do you go and curl yourself up like a fox-terrier on the hearthrug for, and make people do these pantomime tricks over you? You nearly were the death of two of Her Majesty's most esteemed subjects."

"Heavy fall in shirtings," whispered the[Pg 299] irrepressible Tom to Mildred, who was obliged to go out of the room, ostensibly to see the housekeeper, but in reality to hide her laughter.

"Not hurt, I hope?" asked the Colonel.

"No—ah—Colonel Vivian, I thank you; but I must apologise to Miss Vivian. It must have astonished her. Ah, she is gone," said Simpson, who was, if possible, of a more rosy hue than ever.

"Oh, Mildred's all right," put in Jack; "it's not the first time she has seen a man down by many a hundred, nor will it be the last if hounds run to-morrow. Which is my room, uncle? I'll show Simpson his too. It's nearly time to dress."

"You are in your old quarters, Jack, and Mr. Simpson is in the bachelor's room, which, I hope, he will find comfortable," said his uncle.

"Come on then, Simpson; I'll take you to your diggings, and then I'll go and see Phillips the stud-groom, and tell him to[Pg 300] show your man where to put himself and his horses too," continued Jack, and out they went.

"What a ridiculous contretemps!" said Florence as the door closed. "I never saw anything half so funny as Mr. Simpson's face. My dear Ethel, I thought I should have died."

"I thought I should have been smothered," replied Ethel. "I shall never be able to look Mr. Simpson in the face again."

Mr. Wilton, who had hitherto been a silent spectator, here interrupted with "I am afraid the gentleman is not in the same happy state as Wingfield's horse, for I distinctly heard him as he fell utter a most unangelic word beginning with a D."

"A falling angel can't be particular," said Tom. "What do you say, Colonel?"

"I say that it's very wrong of you to make fun of our guest, and that if you don't go to dress at once you will be all late for dinner;" with which the master of the house walked out of the room followed by the rest.

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At seven o'clock the whole party were reassembled in the drawing-room. Mr. Simpson, in all the consciousness of a spotless shirt in which blazed an elaborate diamond stud the size of a sixpenny piece, was trying to make himself agreeable to Mildred, while Jack was in a deep discussion with Tom and his uncle over the prospects of the season, and listening to the accounts of past performances. "Dinner is served" from the butler took them all into the dining-room, where they were soon hard at what Tom called "trencher-work."

"What horses have you brought, Mr. Simpson?" said the Colonel during the pause after the soup.

"Ah—two, Colonel Vivian. A bay mare I had last season, and a new horse I bought from Ward the other day; a splendid fencer—nothing is too big for him. Ah—I had to give four hundred for him though, so he ought to be good," replied Simpson.

"He ought indeed. I wish I could afford[Pg 302] to give such prices," rejoined the Colonel, on whose ear the statement of ￡ s. d. grated somewhat harshly. "I advise you to ride him to-morrow; the hounds meet here, and the keeper tells me there are a brace of foxes in the osiers, and if they take the usual line it wants a good horse to live with them."

Mr. Simpson's face did not express a vast amount of rapture at this, and he almost wished he had not been quite so fulsome on the subject of his new purchase. However, turning to Mildred, he said: "Miss Vivian—ah—I suppose you follow the hounds to-morrow?"

"Yes," replies Mildred; "I ride my favourite horse Birdcatcher, and I hope we shall show you some sport."

"Follow the hounds!" muttered Jack under his breath, who was getting rather jealous of his fellow-traveller. "He did not suppose the hounds would follow her, did he?" an idea that he imparted to Ethel, who was next to him, and which seemed to amuse her[Pg 303] mightily. "I believe the fellow's a funk," he went on. "Anyhow, I'll draw him," and across the table he said: "Simpson, is your nag good at water and timber, for the Belton brook runs below the osiers, and there are one or two rather awkward stiles to be negotiated?"

"Oh yes. Ah—he is a first-rate water-jumper, and, I believe, very good all round."

"That's all right then; you will be cutting us all down," put in Tom; whereat Simpson smiled a sickly and most unbecoming smile, by which he meant to insinuate that he was going to try, and thought it extremely probable that he would succeed, but which conveyed to everybody the impression that he wished Belton brook and the stiles at the bottom of the sea.

Florence, who saw this, immediately proceeded to set his mind at rest by telling a number of stories anent the difficulties of the country, and the number of men that had come out in the morning in all the pride of[Pg 304] their scarlet, and had returned bemudded and besmirched after a visit to the bottom of the brook, all of which anecdotes she referred to Mr. Wilton for verification.

After dinner Mr. Simpson made the ru............