see it'--I think,
by-the-bye, Sir Walter Scott says, 'by moonlight.'"

"Yes, for an ancient Gothic abbey; but twilight is better for a Tudor
manor-house. Are you sure it will not fatigue you?" inquired the
Captain, with an air of solicitude, as Mrs. Tempest rose languidly.

"No; I shall be very pleased to show you the dear old place. It is full
of sad associations, of course, out I do not allow my mind to dwell
upon them more than I can help."

"No," cried Vixen bitterly. "We go to dinner-parties and kettledrums,
and go into raptures about orchids and old china, and try to cure our
broken hearts that way."

"Are you coming, Violet?" asked her mother sweetly.

"No, thanks, mamma. I am tired after my ride. Mrs. Scobel will help you
to play cicerone."

Captain Winstanley left the room without so much as a look at Violet
Tempest. Yet her rude reception had galled him more than any cross that
fate had lately inflicted upon him. He had fancied that time would have
softened her feeling towards him, that rural seclusion and the society
of rustic nobodies would have made him appear at an advantage, that she
would have welcomed the brightness and culture of metropolitan life in
his person. He had hoped a great deal from the lapse of time since
their last meeting. But this sullen reception, this silent expression
of dislike, told him that Violet Tempest's aversion was a plant of deep
root.

"The first woman who ever disliked me," he thought. "No wonder that she
interests me more than other women. She is like that chestnut mare that
threw me six times before I got the better of her. Yet she proved the
best horse I ever had, and I rode her till she hadn't a leg to stand
upon, and than sold her for twice the money she cost me. There are two
conquests a man can make over a woman, one to make her love him, the
other----"

"That suit of chain-armour was worn by Sir Gilbert Tempest at Acre,"
said the widow. "The plate-armour belonged to Sir Percy, who was killed
at Barnet. Each of them was knighted before he was five-and-twenty
years old, for prowess in the field. The portrait over the chimneypiece
is the celebrated Judge Tempest, who was famous for----Well, he did
something wonderful, I know. Perhaps Mrs. Scobel remembers," concluded
Mrs. Tempest, feebly.

"It was at the trial of the seven bishops," suggested the Vicar's wife.

"In the time of Queen Elizabeth," assented Mrs. Tempest. "That one with
the lace cravat and stee