quick eye had distinguished Geoffrey Hilliard,
but she affected not to see him until he rode up to her side, his face
aglow with pleasure.

"You managed it, then? You managed to get here?"

"My sister is not feeling very well. She begged to be excused," replied
Esmeralda demurely, and Hilliard laughed and muttered something about
"blessed Saint Bridget," which on the whole she thought it wiser not to
hear. When the signal was given to move on, he kept beside her as the
horsemen proceeded to cross several grassy fields; and, contrary to his
usual custom, her father lagged behind, as though relieved to leave her
to the care of another. Esmeralda turned lightly in her saddle, saw him
riding at the farther end of the long line, and looked wonderingly at
her companion.

"Something's wrong with the Major. He was so glum all the way here, and
look at him now with his head hanging forward! It's not like him to be
down-hearted at a meet."

"Perhaps he is tired. He'll waken up presently when we get to business.
It would only worry him if we took any notice."

"That's true. Perhaps the mare fidgets him. It's the one he bought a
short time since, and she has an awkward temper. Sometimes she is a
paragon and does everything that she ought, but at others she is fidgety
and uncertain. Father thinks she has been badly ridden at the start,
but that she is good enough to take trouble with still."

"She looks a beauty, and she has not had any time to annoy him to-day.
I think it can hardly be that. Did not your brother return to town
yesterday? I stayed away on purpose, because I feared that on his last
day you would not care to be disturbed; but isn't it very likely that
Major O'Shaughnessy is depressed at being without him?"

Esmeralda looked up with a brightening glance. "Why, of course, I never
thought of that! Father hates saying good-bye to Jack, hates him being
in town at all, for he is the first O'Shaughnessy who has ever gone into
business. There was a great scene when Jack was twenty, because he
insisted on doing something for himself. `Have you no pride?' cries my
father. `Faith I have!' cries Jack. `Too much of it to spend all my
life starving in a ruin.' `You will be the first of your race to soil
your hands with trade.' `Honest work,' says Jack, `will soil no man's
hands, and please God, I'll touch nothing that isn't honest.' `You'll
be falling into English ways and selling the old place as not