There was a good deal of truth in the remarks of the servants; for the Charley Vining of the present was certainly not the Charley Vining of a month before. Since the night of the croquet-party he had several times met Laura Bray, who, like himself, had endeavoured to ignore entirely their encounter in the conservatory, speaking in the most friendly manner, and endeavouring to the best of her ability to bring Charley more to her side. In fact, so completely was the past evaded, that Charley called several times, meeting a warmer welcome at every visit; but not once did he encounter Ella. He was very little more fortunate during his rides: once he pressed forward his horse upon seeing her at some distance down a lane with the "children;" but suddenly Max Bray made his appearance, as if by magic, and fixing upon him, kept by his side for quite an hour; another time Max was walking with his sisters and their governess; while upon a third occasion Max was coming in the other direction, as if purposely to meet them, and as Charley rode away his brow grew dark, and he asked himself what it meant. In fact, watch as carefully as he would for a meeting, his efforts seemed in vain; while the more he was disappointed, the more eager he became. It was upon one of these occasions that he had drawn up his horse by a hedge-side, gazing angrily after the distant party, consisting of Ella, two of the children, and Max, when, angry and disappointed, he was considering whether he should canter up after them or turn back. "Why should I bother myself?" he muttered. "If she likes that donkey dangling after her, I'm quite convinced that she would not approve of rough unpolished me. I'll give up. Max shall have the field to himself, and I'll go back and ask the governor to let me live in peace. I've only been making a mistake, and neglecting everything for the sake of a pleasant-looking face. Hallo!" "Ha, ha, ha!" rang out a merry laugh. "Look at Sir Dismal, pausing thoughtfully beneath the trees." Charley looked up, to see peering down upon him, from between the bushes on the high bank, the bright merry face of Nelly, with her hair tangled, her straw hat bent of brim, and a general aspect about her hot face and tumbled clothes of having been tearing through a wood. "What, my little dryad!" laughed out Charley, brightening in an instant. "How is the little wood-nymph?" "O, so jolly hot and tired, Charley! I've cut away from them, run up the bank, and scampered through Bosky Dell, and tore my dress ever so many times. But I wasn't going to stay; at least, I ought to have stayed," she added thoughtfully, "but I felt as if I couldn't, for old Max would have made me ill--he would, bai Jove!" she laughed, mocking her brother's drawl with all accuracy which delighted Charley. "Been having a walk?" he said.