Gernon."

An old quarrel--some unpleasantry between the two families--some feeling
of bitterness on the part of Sir Murray Gernon, who, with his daughter,
had been resident in Italy for some twenty years. That must be it, for
he could evoke nothing from the past--nothing tangible. Sir Murray had
seen, then, the name of Norton in the chaise, and he refused to accept
service from any one bearing that patronymic. It was absurd, too, after
all these years; but it would only be an insult to a man of such pride
of speech and mien to follow and press upon him what he would look upon
as a favour. A little gentle advance or two upon the part of those at
the Hall might put all right; for if that was Sir Murray Gernon returned
unexpectedly after all these years to dwell at the Castle, there must be
no enmity now. And this, then, was his daughter!

So mused Brace Norton as he mentally smoothed away all difficulties
ahead, rejoicing, too, he knew not why, at the prospect of possessing
such neighbours. He must, he felt, question them at home about the
past, and try to adopt means for a reconciliation.

Here he stopped short, roused by the sight of the wrecked chaise, and
recalling the position of those from whom he had but now parted. If
that were Sir Murray Gernon, he was a good six miles from the Castle, to
which place it seemed impossible that he could walk. What could be
done, then, to help them without its being known from whence the help
arrived? He had at last determined upon being taken back to the town,
and informing the hotel-keeper of the state of affairs, when a
heavily-laden fly was driven up, the roof and the driver's box being
filled with luggage, when, seeing the state of the post-boy and the
injured chaise, the fly-man pulled up, and began to make inquiries.

"No bones broke, Tommy," said the post-boy, in reply; "but I shall be
precious glad to get back."

"An' was that the chay Sir Mooray Jairnon was in?" exclaimed a voice;
and a massive-looking grizzled head was thrust out of the fly-window.

"Was it your master," said the post-boy: "grey gent with a young lady?"

"Yes--yes! Where are they?" exclaimed an eager female voice. "Pray get
out, McCray, and see."

"Dinna fash yersel', lassie," said the first speaker. "There's naebodie
hurt, I ken. But where's Sir Mooray, my lad?"

"Walked on," said the post-boy.

"You are, then, that gentleman's servant?" exclaimed Brace Norton, now
eagerly joining