“Just by old Nat Hodges’ farm, on Squire Copping’s ground,” cried Andrew, much relieved by the particular individual’s misfortune. “Dear me, my lady! how old Tom and I used to jump the brook there, to be sure! and when you were no bigger than little Miss Loring—do you remember old Tom? We’re all fools one time in our lives!” “Who can it be?” said Lady Jocelyn, spying at the discomfited horseman. “I’m afraid it’s poor Ferdinand.” They drove on to an eminence from which the plain was entirely laid open. “I hope my brother will enjoy his ride this day,” sighed the Countess. “It will be his limit of enjoyment for a lengthened period!” She perceived that Mr. George’s capture was inevitable, and her heart sank; for she was sure he would recognize her, and at the moment she misdoubted her powers. She dreamed of flight. “You’re not going to leave us?” said Lady Jocelyn. “My dear Countess, what will the future member do without you? We have your promise to stay till the election is over.” “Thanks for your extreme kind courtesy, Lady Jocelyn,” murmured the Countess: “but my husband—the Count.” “The favour is yours,” returned her ladyship. “And if the Count cannot come, you at least are at liberty?” “You are most kind,” said the Countess. “Andrew and his wife I should not dare to separate for more than a week,” said Lady Jocelyn. “He is the great British husband. The proprietor! ‘My wife’ is his unanswerable excuse.” “Yes,” Andrew replied cheerily. “I don’t like division between man and wife, I must say.” The Countess dared no longer instance the Count, her husband. She was heard to murmur that citizen feelings were not hers: “You suggested Fallowfield to Melville, did you not?” asked Lady Jocelyn. “It was the merest suggestion,” said the Countess, smiling. “Then you must really stay to see us through it,” said her ladyship. “Where are they now? They must be making straight for break-neck fence. They’ll have him there. George hasn’t pluck for that.” “Hasn’t what?” It was the Countess who requested to know the name of this other piece of Providence Mr. George Uplift was deficient in. “Pluck—go,” said her ladyship hastily, and telling the coachman to drive to a certain spot, trotted on with Andrew, saying to him: “I’m afraid we are thought vulgar by the Countess.” Andrew considered it best to reassure her gravely. “The young man, her brother, is well-bred,” said Lady Jocelyn, and Andrew was very ready to praise Evan. Lady Jocelyn, herself in slimmer days a spirited horsewoman, had correctly estimated Mr. George’s pluck. He was captured by Harry and Evan close on the leap, in the act of shaking his head at it; and many who inspected the leap would have deemed it a sign that wisdom weighted the head that would shake long at it; for it consisted of a post and rails, with a double ditch.