om his
hand, as she cries half reproachfully, half tenderly---

"You must not devote yourself to your gun so incessantly, Moseley; it is
cruel to kill inoffensive birds for your amusement only."

"Ask Emily's cook, and Mr. Haughton's appetite," said John, coolly
extending his hand towards her for the flint--"whether no one is
gratified but myself. I tell you, Grace, I seldom fire in vain."

"That only makes the matter worse; the slaughter you commit is dreadful."

"Oh!" cried John, with a laugh, "the ci-devant Captain Jarvis is a
sportsman to your mind. He would shoot a month without moving a feather;
he was a great friend to," throwing an arch look to his solitary sister,
who sat on a sofa at a distance perusing a book, "Jane's feathered
songsters."

"But now, Mosely," said Grace, yielding the flints, but gently retaining
the hand that took them, "Pendenyss and Chatterton intend driving their
wives, like good husbands, to see the beautiful waterfall in the
mountains; and what am I to do this long tedious morning?"

John stole an enquiring glance, to see if his wife was very anxious to
join the party--cast one look of regret on a beautiful agate that he had
selected, and inquired--

"Do you wish to go very much, Mrs. Mosely?"

"Indeed--indeed I do," said the other, eagerly, "if--"

"If what?"

"You will drive me?" continued she, with a cheek slightly tinged with
color.

"Well, then," answered John, with deliberation, and regarding his wife
with affection "I will go on one condition."

"Name it!" cried Grace, with still increasing color.

"That you will not expose your health again in going to the church on a
Sunday, if it rains."

"The carriage is so close, Mosely," answered Grace, with a paler cheek
than beforehand eyes fixed on the carpet, "it is impossible I can take
cold: you see the earl, and countess, and aunt Wilson never miss public
worship, when possibly within their power."

"The earl goes with his wife; but what becomes of poor me at such times!"
said John, taking her hand and pressing it kindly. "I like; to hear a good
sermon, but not in bad weather. You must consent to oblige me, who only
live in your presence."

Grace smiled faintly, as John, pursuing the point, said--"What do you say
to my condition?"

"Well then, if you wish," replied Graces without the look of gaiety her
hopes had first inspired, "I will not go if it rain."

John ordered his phaeton, and his wife went to her room