As the horseman looked up to the house, however, which was raised upon a little terrace, and approached by a gentle rise, he could not help thinking, "That does not look very much like the dwelling of a man dying of gout in the stomach; it looks more like that of one getting up a good fit;" for three windows on the ground floor, having very much of a dining-room aspect about them, were thrown up to admit the air, and in addition to a blaze of light, there came forth the sounds of merry laughter, and several persons talking. The post-boy drove up to the great door, however, and the horseman, springing to the ground, rang the bell, after which, returning to the side of the carriage, he leaned against it, saying, "I trust your relation is better, Madam, for the house does not seem to be one of mourning." The lady did not reply directly to his words, but she said, "I hope if you remain in this part of the country, Sir, you will give me an opportunity of thanking you, either here, or at my own house, for the great service you have rendered me. The people of the inn will direct you, for it is only ten miles on the other side of Tarningham." "I shall certainly have the honour of waiting on you to inquire how you do," replied the horseman, and then adding, "these people do not seem inclined to come," he returned to the bell, and rang it vigorously. The next moment the door was opened, and a capacious butler appeared, and the stranger, without more ado, assisted the ladies to alight, remarking as he did so, that the younger of the two was a very pretty girl, some nineteen or twenty years of age. "How is my brother now?" demanded the elder lady, who wore a widow's dress. "Quite well, Ma'am, thank you," answered the butler, in the most commonplace tone possible, and before she had time to make any more inquiries, the stranger who had come to her rescue, wished her and her daughter good night, and mounting his horse, rode down the avenue again. CHAPTER II. The Supper at the White Hart.