"Why, Sir John," answered the man, "Ralph, the under-groom, told me he had met the captain in the park, as he was returning from taking your note to Mr. Wharton, and that Captain Hayward made him get down, jumped upon the cob, and rode away out at the gates as hard as he could go." "There, I told you so," said Sir John Slingsby, "Heaven only knows what he is about, and there is no use trying to find it out; but this is too bad of you, Mr. Beauchamp, ordering your carriage at this hour; the days of curfew are passed, and we can keep the fire in a little after sun-down." "You should stay and see what has become of your friend, Mr. Beauchamp," said Isabella Slingsby; "I don't think that is like a true companion-in-arms, to go away and leave him, just when you know he is engaged in some perilous adventure." Beauchamp was not proof against such persuasions; but we are all merchants in this world, trafficking for this or that, and sometimes bartering things that are of very little value to us in reality for others that we value more highly. Beauchamp made it a condition of his stay, that Isabella should go on singing; and Mary Clifford engaged her uncle in a _tête-à-tête_, while Beauchamp leaned over her cousin at the piano. The first song was scarcely concluded, however, when the butler again made his appearance, saying,-- "You were asking, Sir John, what had become of Captain Hayward, and Stephen Gimlet has just come in to say that he had seen him about an hour ago." "Well, well," said Sir John, impatiently, "what, the devil, has become of him? what bat-fowling exhibition has he gone upon now? By Jove! that fellow will get his head broken some of these days, and then we shall discover whether there are any brains in it or not. Sometimes I think there is a great deal, sometimes that there is none at all; but, at all events, he is as kind, good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, that's certain." "Stephen Gimlet says, Sir John," replied the butler, with his usual solemnity, "that the captain went out on horseback to hunt down the man who fired through the window." "Whew!" whistled Sir John Slingsby, "was it not one of those cursed fools of game-keepers, shooting a deer?" "No, Sir John," answered the man, "it was some one who came in on horseback by the upper gates. Captain Hayward got upon the cob and hunted him across the moor, till he lodged him in one of the pits on the other side, and was watching him there by the moonlight when Stephen Gimlet came up; for he was afraid, if he went in one way, that he might get out the other." "Well, have they got him? have they got him?" cried Sir John; "by Jove! this is too bad, one must have his plate made bomb-proof, if this is to go on."