Denbigh.

"Miss Moseley!" cried he, in a voice of the tenderest interest "you are
not hurt in the least, I hope."

"No," said Emily, recovering her breath, "only frightened;" and taking his
hand, she sprang from the carriage.

Miss Chatterton found courage to wait quietly for the care of John. His
"dear Grace," had thrilled on every nerve, and she afterwards often
laughed at Emily for her terror when there was so little danger. The
horses were not in the least frightened, and after a little mending, John
declared all was safe. To ask Emily to enter, the carriage again, was to
exact no little sacrifice of her feelings to her reason; and she stood in
a suspense that too plainly showed that, the terror she had been in had
not left her.

"If," said Denbigh, modestly, "if Mr. Moseley will take the ladies in my
gig, I will drive the phaeton to the hall, as it is rather unsafe for so
heavy a load."

"No, no, Denbigh," said John, coolly, "you are not used to such mettled
nags as mine--it would be indiscreet for you to drive them: if, however,
you will be good enough to take Emily into your gig--Grace Chatterton, I
am sure, is not afraid to trust my driving, and we might all get back as
well as ever."

Grace gave her hand almost unconsciously to John, and he handed her into
the phaeton, as Denbigh stood willing to execute his part of the
arrangement, but too diffident to speak. It was not a moment for
affectation, if Emily had been capable of it, and blushing with the
novelty of her situation, she took her place in the gig. Denbigh stopped
and turned his eyes on the little group with which he had been talking,
and at that moment they caught the attention of John also. The latter
inquired after their situation. The tale was a piteous one, the distress
evidently real. The husband had been gardener to a gentleman in a
neighboring county, and he had been lately discharged, to make way, in the
difficulty of the times, for a relation of the steward, who was in want of
the place. Suddenly thrown on the world, with a wife and four children,
with but the wages of a week for his and their support, they had travelled
thus far on the way to a neighboring parish, where he said he had a right
to, and must seek, public assistance. The children were crying for hunger,
and the mother, who was a nurse, had been unable to walk further than
where she sat, but had sunk on the ground overcome with fatigue, and weak
from the want of nourishmen