Rivers suddenly had sprung up where none had been known before, and six-foot posts and rails, with broad double ditches, had caused Mr. Simpson alone to tarry on his course. In other words he was an arrant "funk," though of course he would not have acknowledged the soft impeachment. It was, as you may think, very odd that such a man should be the guest of so ardent a sportsman as the owner of Belton, but it happened thus. The previous year the Colonel and his daughter were staying in Leicestershire, and at a friend's house they met Mr. Simpson. So taken up with admiring his horses was the Colonel that he either omitted to look at the owner, or else invested him with a halo which was the overflow of the equine worship. Besides, open house, hunters five days a week for himself and daughter, and a large establishment, were not to be maintained for nothing; and the Colonel, in the matter of £ s. d., was a remarkably practical man, and had no objection to the possibility of a rich son-in-law, even though he might be "in the City." Therefore, for Christmas week, Simpson and his horses were offered bed and board at Belton; and already, in his own mind, had Mr. S. drawn up a deed of partnership, with Miss Vivian as the Co., for he had been completely knocked out of time at the first sight of Mildred, and had fallen head over ears in--what he was pleased to call--love. What his chances of success were may be gathered from the following conversation, which took place in the drawing-room after the dog-cart had gone down to the station. Mildred--it was a non-hunting day--was seated in a low easy-chair, occupied with five-o'clock tea, and by her side, on a cushion, reclined her cousin Ethel, a young girl of sixteen, while opposite was the Rev. Mr. Wilton, the clergyman of the place--one of the old school of sporting parsons, who was good for a fast twenty minutes either in the field or the pulpit; and though he had, for fifty odd years, hunted regularly four days a-week, there was not a man, woman, or child in the parish whose every trouble was not known to him, and there was not one of them who would not willingly have given up everything to help their idol, "t' owd parson." With his back to the fire stood the Colonel, engaged in conversation with Florence Wingfield, sister to the expected Jack. She was staying in the house with her husband, Captain Tom Wingfield, of the 23rd Hussars, who at this moment was trying a new purchase by riding over to the kennels, some ten miles away. "Which room has Mr. Simpson got, Milly?" said the Colonel suddenly. "The best bachelor's room, papa," replied the young lady; "I put him there because I thought the gorgeous pattern of the new carpet you chose would suit his taste, and I have hung up some of those old sporting prints for him to take a lesson from." "And what room has Jack got?" continued the Colonel, not best pleased at the impression his intended guest had produced on his daughter.