he birding party had that day betaken himself to Tip-top upon some
private business of his own. He dined at the Antlers in company with
some sporting gentlemen of the neighborhood, and when the conversation
naturally turned upon field sports, Mr. John Stone spoke of the fine
shooting that was to be had around Hurricane Hall, when one of the
gentlemen, looking straight across the table to Mr. Stone, said:

"Ahem! That pretty little huntress of Hurricane Hall--that niece or
ward, or mysterious daughter of Old Hurricane, who engages with so much
enthusiasm in your field sports over there, is a girl of very free and
easy manners I understand--a Diana in nothing but her love of the
chase!"

"Sir, it is a base calumny! And the man who endorses it is a shameless
slanderer! There is my card! I may be found at my present residence,
Hurricane Hall," said John Stone, throwing his pasteboard across the
table, and rising to leave it.

"Nay, nay," said the stranger, laughing and pushing the card away. "I
do not endorse the statement--I know nothing about it! I wash my hands
of it," said the young man. And then upon Mr. Stone's demanding the
author of the calumny, he gave the name of Mr. Craven Le Noir, who, he
said, had "talked in his cups," at a dinner party recently given by one
of his friends.

"I pronounce--publicly, in the presence of all these witnesses, as I
shall presently to Craven Le Noir himself--that he is a shameless
miscreant, who has basely slandered a noble girl! You, sir, have
declined to endorse those words; henceforth decline to repeat them! For
after this I shall call to a severe account any man who ventures, by
word, gesture or glance to hint this slander, or in any other way deal
lightly with the honorable name and fame of the lady in question.
Gentlemen, I am to be found at Hurricane Hall, and I have the honor of
wishing you a more improving subject of conversation, and--a very good
afternoon," said John Stone, bowing and leaving the room.

He immediately called for his horse and rode home.

In crossing the thicket of woods between the river and the rising
ground in front of Hurricane Hall, he overtook Capitola, who, as we
have said, had been out alone with her gun and dog, and was now
returning home with her game bag well laden.

Now, as John Stone looked at Capitola, with her reckless, free and
joyous air, he thought she was just the sort of girl, unconsciously, to
get herself and friends into trouble