own gambler,
who, having lost a princely fortune at Crocky's, and the Bads, married
at fifty a widow with a little money, and migrated to Toronto, where he
was a torment to himself and to everybody else. Vivian, meanwhile, was a
great matrimonial _coup_. Coming of a high county family, and being the
only son, of course there was priceless value set on his life, which,
equally, of course, he imperilled, after the manner of us all, in every
way he could--in charges and skirmishes, yachting, hunting, and
steeple-chasing--ever since some two-and-twenty years ago he joined as a
cornet of fifteen--a man already in muscle and ideas, pleasures and
pursuits.

At the present time he had been tranquilly engaged in the House, as he
represented the borough of Cacklebury.

He spoke seldom, but always well, and was thought a very promising
member, his speeches being in Bernal Osborne's style; but he himself
cared little about his senatorial laurels, and was fervently hoping
that there would be a row with Russia, and that we should be allowed to
go and stick Croats and make love to Bayaderes, to freshen us up and
make us boys again.

Next week, the first in December, he and I drove to Paddington, put
ourselves in the express, and whisked through the snow-covered
embankments, whitened fields, and holly hedges on the line down to
Deerhurst. If the frost broke up we should have magnificent runs, and we
looked at the country with a longing eye. Ever since he was six years
old, he told me, he had gone out with the Harkaway Hack on
Christmas-eve. When the drag met us, with the four bays steaming in the
night air, and the groom warming into a smile at the sight of the
Colonel, the sleet was coming down heavily, and the wind blew as keen as
a sabre's edge. The bays dashed along at a furious gallop under Vivian's
hand, the frosty road cracked under the wheel, the leaders' breath was
white in the misty night; we soon flew through the park gate--though he
didn't forget to throw down a sovereign on the snow for the old
porteress--and up the leafless avenue, and bright and cheery the old
manor-house, with its score of windows, like so many bright eyes, looked
out upon the winter's night.

"By George! we did that four miles quick enough," said Vivian, jumping
down, and shaking the snow off his hair and mustaches. "The old place
looks cheery, doesn't it? Ah! there are the girls; they're sure to
pounce on me."

The two girls in question having