Well, to return to my day. After a while White Stockings began to recover himself. I'm sure I didn't know what to do with him. I got off, and loosened his girths as well as I could, and turned his head to the wind, and wiped his poor nose with my pocket-handkerchief. I hadn't any eau-de-Cologne, and if I had it might not have done him much good. At last he got better, and I got on again (all my life I've been used to mounting and dismounting without assistance). Thinking downhill must be the way home, downhill I turned him, and proceeded slowly on, now running over in my own mind the glorious hour I had just spent, now wondering whether I should be lost and have to sleep amongst the Downs; and anon coming back to the old subject, and resolving that hunting was the only thing to live for, and that for the future I would devote my whole time and energies to that pursuit. At last I got into a steep chalky lane, and at a turn a little farther on espied to my great relief a red-coated back jogging leisurely home. White Stockings pricked his ears and mended his pace, so I soon overtook the returning sportsman, who proved to be no other than Squire Haycock, thrown out like the rest of the Heavy-top gentlemen, and only too happy to take care of me, and show me the shortest way (eleven miles as the crow flies) back to Dangerfield Hall. We jogged on amicably enough, the Squire complimenting me much on my prowess, and not half so shy as usual--very often the case with a diffident man when on horseback. We were forced to go very slow, both our horses being pretty well tired; and to make matters better, we were caught in a tremendous hailstorm about two miles from home, just as it was getting dark, and close to the spot where our respective roads diverged. I could not possibly miss mine, as it was perfectly straight. Ah! that hailstorm has a deal to answer for. We were forced to turn through a hand-gate, and take shelter in a friendly wood. What a ridiculous position, pitch dark, pelting with rain, an elderly gentleman and a young lady on horseback under a fir tree. The Squire had been getting more incoherent for some time; I couldn't think what he was driving at. "You like our country, Miss Coventry; fine climate, excellent soil, nice and dry for ladies?" I willingly subscribed to all these advantages. "Good neighbourhood," added the Squire; "capital hunting, charming rides, wonderful scenery for sketching. Do you think you could live in this part of the world?" I thought I could if I was to try. "You expressed your approbation of my house, Miss Coventry," the Squire proceeded, with his hand on my horse's neck; "do you think--I mean--should you consider--or rather I should say, is there any alteration you would suggest--anything in my power--if you would condescend to ride over any afternoon; may I consider you will so far favour me?" I said "I should be delighted, but that it had left off raining, and it was time for us to get home."