I will not tell the reader what harsh and cruel things Conyers said of every one and everything, nor how severely he railed at the world and its ways. Lord Byron had taught the youth of that age a very hearty and wholesome contempt for all manner of conventionalities, into which category a vast number of excellent customs were included, and Conyers could spout “Manfred” by heart, and imagine himself, on very small provocation, almost as great a man-hater; and so he set off on a long walk into the forest, determined not to appear at dinner, and equally determined to be the cause of much inquiry, and, if possible, of some uneasiness. “I wonder what that old-maid,”--alas for his gallantry, it was so he called her,--“what she would say if her harsh, ungenerous words had driven me to--” what he did not precisely define, though it was doubtless associated with snow peaks and avalanches, eternal solitudes and demoniac possessions. It might, indeed, have been some solace to him had he known how miserable and anxious old Peter became at his absence, and how incessantly he questioned every one about him. “I hope that no mishap has befallen that boy, Dinah; he was always punctual. I never knew him stray away in this fashion before.” “It would be rather a severe durance, brother Peter, if a young gentleman could not prolong his evening walk without permission.” “What says Fifine? I suspect she agrees with me.” “If that means that he ought to be here, grandpapa, I do.” “I must read over Withering's letter again, brother,” said Miss Dinah, by way of changing the subject “He writes, you say, from the Home?” “Yes; he was obliged to go down there to search for some papers he wanted, and he took Stapylton with him; and he says they had two capital days at the partridges. They bagged,--egad! I think it was eight or ten brace before two o'clock, the Captain or Major, I forget which, being a first-rate shot.” “What does he say of the place,--how is it looking?” “In perfect beauty. Your deputy, Polly, would seem to have fulfilled her part admirably. The garden in prime order; and that little spot next your own sitting-room, he says, is positively a better flower-show than one he paid a shilling to see in Dublin. Polly herself, too, comes in for a very warm share of his admiration.” “How did he see her, and where?” “At the Home. She was there the evening they arrived, and Withering insisted on her presiding at the tea-table for them.” “It did not require very extraordinary entreaty, I will make bold to say, Peter.” “He does not mention that; he only speaks of her good looks, and what he calls her very pretty manners. In a situation not devoid of a certain awkwardness he says she displayed the most perfect tact; and although doing the honors of the house, she, with some very nice ingenuity, insinuated that she was herself but a visitor.”