upon
her face as I shall never forget. Again, walking out on the bowsprit of
the 'Oriole' while she stood watching me from the dock, I lost my balance
and fell into the water. On another occasion I fought Will Fotheringay,
whose parents had come for a visit, because he dared say he would marry
her.

"She is to marry an earl," I cried, tho' I had thrashed another lad for
saying so. "Mr. Manners is to take her home when she is grown, to marry
her to an earl."

"At least she will not marry you, Master Richard," sneered Will. And
then I hit him.

Indeed, even at that early day the girl's beauty was enough to make her
talked about. And that foolish little fop, her father, had more than
once declared before a company in our dining room that it was high time
another title came into his family, and that he meant to take Dolly
abroad when she was sixteen. Lad that I was, I would mark with pain the
blush on Mrs. Manners's cheek, and clinch my fists as she tried to pass
this off as a joke of her husband's. But Dolly, who sat next me at a
side table, would make a wry little face at my angry one.

"You shall call me 'my lady,' Richard. And sometimes, if you are good,
you shall ride inside my coroneted coach when you come home."

Ah, that was the worst of it! The vixen was conscious of her beauty.
But her airs were so natural that young and old bowed before her.
Nothing but worship had she had from the cradle. I would that Mr.
Peale had painted her in her girlhood as a type of our Maryland lady of
quality. Harvey was right when he called her a thoroughbred. Her nose
was of patrician straightness, and the curves of her mouth came from
generations of proud ancestors. And she had blue eyes to conquer and
subdue; with long lashes to hide them under when she chose, and black
hair with blue gloss upon it in the slanting lights. I believe I loved
her best in the riding-habit that was the colour of the red holly in our
Maryland woods. At Christmas-tide, when we came to the eastern shore, we
would gallop together through miles of country, the farmers and servants
tipping and staring after her as she laid her silver-handled whip upon
her pony. She knew not the meaning of fear, and would take a fence or a
ditch that a man might pause at. And so I fell into the habit of leading
her the easy way round, for dread that she would be hurt.

How those Christmas times of childhood come sweeping back on my memory!
Often, and without warning, my g