nd brushed away
more than one silent tear with the back of the dandy-brush. It was kind
of Miss Violet to think about getting him a place; but he had no heart
for going into a new service. He would rather have taken a room in one
of the Beechdale cottages, and have dragged out the remnant of his days
within sight of the chimney-stacks beneath which he had slept for forty
years. He had money in the bank that would last until his lees of life
were spilt, and then he would be buried in the churchyard he had
crossed every Sunday of his life on his way to morning service. His
kindred were all dead or distant--the nearest, a married niece, settled
at Romsey, which good old humdrum market-town was--except once a week
or so by carrier's cart--almost as unapproachable as the Bermudas. He
was not going to migrate to Romsey for the sake of a married niece;
when he could stop at Beechdale, and see the gables and chimneys of the
home from which stern fate had banished him.

He had scarcely finished Arion's toilet when Miss Tempest opened the
stable-door and looked, in ready to mount. She had her hunting-crop,
with the strong horn hook for opening gates, her short habit, and
looked altogether ready for business.

"Hadn't I better come with you, miss?" Bates asked, as he lifted her
into her saddle.

"No, Bates. You are dismissed, you know. It wouldn't do for you to take
one of Captain Winstanley's horses. He might have you sent to prison
for horse-stealing."

"Lord, miss, so he might!" said Bates, grinning. "I reckon he's capable
of it. But I cheeked him pretty strong, Miss Voylet. The thought o'
that'll always be a comfort to me. You wouldn't ha' knowed me for your
feyther's old sarvant if you'd heard me. I felt as if Satan had got
hold o' my tongue, and was wagging it for me. The words came so pat. It
seemed as if I'd got all the dictionary at the tip of my poor old
tongue."

"Open the gate," said Vixen. "I am going out by the wilderness."

Bates opened the gate under the old brick archway, and Vixen rode
slowly away, by unfrequented thickets of rhododendron and arbutus,
holly and laurel, with a tall mountain-ash, or a stately deodora,
rising up among them, here and there, dark against the opal evening sky.

It was a lovely evening. The crescent moon rode high above the
tree-tops; the sunset was still red in the west. The secret depths of
the wood gave forth their subtle perfume in the cool, calm air. The
birds were singing