It so happened that Colonel Wilson had been called away upon an exchange of his government for one of rather more emolument in a distant situation, where he had been obliged to reside for a certain term upon his first taking possession. This was a heavy loss to young John, who had the mortification to hear the wit and understanding of David Owen cried up and applauded, whilst he himself was let to remain in a state little short of dereliction. Once or twice he was admitted to the honour of standing by his father, whilst he angled in the canal; but John saw no amusement in watching a float, that never once gave the signal of a bite. In Cecilia’s flower garden he took some small delight, but it was pleasure of too tame a sort to satisfy his ardent mind. One morning when Sir Owen’s fox hounds were to throw off in Kray wood, he was permitted to put himself under the convoy of the groom, and go out to see them find; but alas, he was destined to exhibit himself on the back of the reformed poney, late the letter-carrier and drudge of the castle; when the first object, that struck his sight, was the fine young heir of Penruth Abbey, mounted on a full-sized hunter, and dressed in a uniform of green and scarlet. He was accompanied by several gentlemen in the same uniform, and, Sir Owen not being in the field, seemed to act as master of the hunt. When the hounds began to challenge in the cover, the sportsmen were in motion, and poor John, conscious of his unworthiness to enrol himself amongst them, struck down a narrow lane, that skirted the wood and led towards the castle by the shortest cut. The country had been drenched with rain, and whilst John and poney were bustling through this muddy pass, young Owen gallopped swiftly by, and having spitefully contrived to sluice him, (man and horse,) all over with the dirty soil, looked back and laughed.--Never mind, master Johnny, cried the groom: sportsman’s fare--Not aware that the injury, which the poor little fellow had received, was not confined to his clothes, for upon drawing up and dismounting, which agony compelled John to do without delay, not only his face was cut with the flinty rubbish, that had been thrown up by the heels of Owen’s horse, but his eyes had suffered much more seriously, so that he was obliged to be led home with his handkerchief bound over his eyes, suffering the whilst intolerable pain. What passed on his arrival at the castle need not be described: it was some weeks before the skill of Mr. Llewellyn, and the tender care of Cecilia, could be fairly said to have perfected the cure. No intercourse in the mean time passed between the abbey and the castle, and, if it was known at the former place (which there is good reason to think it was) neither enquiry nor apology ever reached the latter.