That night Lena cried herself to sleep, for she had allowed her mother to sacrifice her to her ambition. Jack Harkaway was lost to her forever and she could never know what happiness was again. The week passed, Lord Maltravers called, and was coldly but formally accepted by Lena. It was settled that the marriage should take place in a month, and the papers contained the following announcement: "ENGAGED.--Lena Van Hoosen, daughter of the late Cornelius Van Hoosen, to Lord Maltravers of the peerage of Great Britain." This to all appearance sealed her fate. CHAPTER XIII. "A BUFFALO-HUNT." Alfred Van Hoosen kept his word in relation to the buffalo-hunt, and early on a fine morning the party took the cars for his uncle's farm in Jersey. Captain Cannon and Mr. Twinkle were in high spirits, and even Mr. Mole looked forward to some excellent sport. Jack and Harvey pretended to be as enthusiastic as the rest, while Van Hoosen discoursed upon the danger attending such a hunt as the one they were about to engage in. When the old homestead was reached, Alfred apologized for the absence of his uncle, who was still away in Philadelphia, and did the honors of the house himself. Old Stock, the steward, who had been posted by Alfred, spread an excellent lunch on the table, and provided rifles and ammunition for the party, but none of them, except Alfred, Jack and Harvey, knew that the cartridges were all blank. It would never have done to kill the buffalo, for Alfred's uncle would not have pardoned such an outrage. Champagne flowed briskly, and every one was in high spirits. "Are there many buffalo, sir, in Jersey?" inquired Captain Cannon, of Alfred. "Considerable," replied Alfred. "But not so many as there were. They are gradually being killed off." "When in India," continued the captain, "I shot a tiger before breakfast, regularly, every day, for a year." "Come, come! That is drawing the long bow," said Mr. Twinkle. "I shot a lion once a week, while in Africa, for six months, but a tiger every day, is too much." "Fact, I assure you, sir." "I can quite believe it," said Professor Mole. "For when I was in China I used to kill a score of alligators, every day, just to keep my hand in." "Well, gentlemen," exclaimed Alfred, "suppose you show your skill on the buffalo." They all jumped up, grasped their rifles, took a supply of cartridges, and started for the park in which the big game were grazing. It was raining slightly, and Mr. Mole provided himself with an umbrella, which did not add to his sportsmanlike appearance. The professor also carried a note-book, in which to record any interesting fact concerning the day's hunt, so that he could send a report to the President of the Travelers' Club. "Fine undulating country," he wrote. "Buffalo-grass observable. Jersey the favorite home of this remarkable animal." After walking half an hour they came upon an old bull who was standing under a tree.