e estate,
and we lived in the greatest luxury. I had ridden out by myself on my
pony, and had reached a somewhat secluded part of the park, where the
bridle-path passed among grassy knolls, and tall trees, flinging their
branches across a narrow dell, formed a thick canopy overhead, and gave
a somewhat gloomy aspect to the sequestered spot. It was one I seldom
visited, and I was wondering whether sprites or fairies, good or bad, of
whom I had heard the country people speak, really came there to gambol
and play their pranks, when a figure started up from behind a bush with
a menacing gesture, and before I could make my pony gallop on to escape
him, I found the rein seized by a stout man with bushy whiskers, a
sunburnt countenance, and, as I then thought, very unpleasant features.
He appeared to me much older than he probably really was, comparing, as
I naturally did, his fare with those on which I was most accustomed to
look. Though his features were rough, he was tolerably well dressed,
and did not look like a common ruffian who designed to rob me. For more
than a minute he held my rein in the attitude of forcing back my pony,
and glared fiercely at me.

"I have come to look at you, that I may know you again when we meet," he
exclaimed at length; and, to my surprise, the tone of his voice was that
of a gentleman. "You have deprived me of my inheritance--you have come
between me and fortune and happiness and the only things worth living
for in this world, and I am determined to have my revenge. While we
remain together on earth, I will pursue you--whatever your course in
life may be, I will find you out; I will balk you in your dearest
wishes--I will prove your bane in whatever you undertake--I will destroy
your happiness--I will stand like a lion in your path, and bar your
progress. I will not injure you in life or limb--I might kill you, but
I will not do that--as you have injured me by legal means, so will I
keep within the law in taking my revenge, but it will be a full one
notwithstanding. Now go, youngster, and my bitter curses go with you!
You may tell your fond father and mother what you have heard; their love
cannot protect you--their anger cannot overtake me. Before they could
decide what to do I shall be far away beyond their reach; and tell them
that, though they may not for many a long day hear of me, that I bide my
time. Now go--go--or I may be tempted to do more than I intended, and
remember that