e proceedings of the hunt than The
Cleeve, and therefore he was enabled to think that he was remaining
away from home chiefly on business. On one point, however, he had
stoutly come to a resolution. That question should be asked of
Madeline Staveley before he returned to his grandfather's house.

And now had arrived a special hunting morning,--special, because
the meet was in some degree a show meet, appropriate for ladies,
at a comfortable distance from Noningsby, and affording a chance
of amusement to those who sat in carriages as well as to those on
horseback. Monkton Grange was the well-known name of the place,
a name perhaps dearer to the ladies than to the gentlemen of the
country, seeing that show meets do not always give the best sport.
Monkton Grange is an old farm-house, now hardly used as such,
having been left, as regards the habitation, in the hands of a head
labourer; but it still possesses the marks of ancient respectability
and even of grandeur. It is approached from the high road by a long
double avenue of elms, which still stand in all their glory. The road
itself has become narrow, and the space between the side row of trees
is covered by soft turf, up which those coming to the meet love to
gallop, trying the fresh metal of their horses. And the old house
itself is surrounded by a moat, dry indeed now for the most part, but
nevertheless an evident moat, deep and well preserved, with a bridge
over it which Fancy tells us must once have been a drawbridge. It
is here, in front of the bridge, that the old hounds sit upon their
haunches, resting quietly round the horses of the huntsmen, while
the young dogs move about, and would wander if the whips allowed
them--one of the fairest sights to my eyes that this fair country
of ours can show. And here the sportsmen and ladies congregate by
degrees, men from a distance in dog-carts generally arriving first,
as being less able to calculate the time with accuracy. There is room
here too in the open space for carriages, and there is one spot on
which always stands old Lord Alston's chariot with the four posters;
an ancient sportsman he, who still comes to some few favourite meets;
and though Alston Court is but eight miles from the Grange, the
post-horses always look as though they had been made to do their
best, for his lordship likes to move fast even in his old age. He is
a tall thin man, bent much with age, and apparently too weak for much
walking; he is dres