“O papa! what’s the harm? It is not as if a party of strangers were going on the airy excursion,—people who did not know how to manage. Mr. Verdon is so experienced, he has been up fourteen or fifteen times, and no accident ever has happened. Uncle Augustine goes himself!” “But because Uncle Augustine chooses to risk his own neck sky-larking amongst the clouds, I see no reason why he should carry my little girl with him on a dangerous excursion.” “Shakspeare tells us,” said Augustine, coming towards the centre of the room, “that ‘’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink,’ but the poet adds ‘Out of the nettle, danger, we pluck the flower, safety.’ When steam-vessels were first introduced it was thought an act of daring to go in one,—when railroads were yet a novelty it was foolhardiness to venture in a train.” “Perhaps,” joined in the eager Mabel, “balloons will some day become as common as carriages!” “In that case,” observed the doctor, “perhaps Miss Mabel will not care to enter one.” Mabel coloured and laughed. “I daresay,” she replied, “that there is something in the excitement and danger,—_supposed_ danger I mean,—that makes the thought of such a trip so delightful. I should like, I own, to do something which no lady in the county ever has done before.” “That’s pride,” said her step-mother abruptly. Such a gush of fierce angry emotion rose in the heart of the young girl at the word, opprobrious and yet so true, that Augustine, perceiving her feelings in her face, and fearing that she might give them vent, thought it as well to effect an immediate diversion. “I hope,” said he, turning towards the doctor, “that you and Miss Bardon will honour Aspendale by your presence on the day of the ascent of the _Eaglet_.” The doctor bowed, for his _sensitiveness_ was gratified by the respectful terms in which the invitation was couched. “We shall not be a large, but a select party,” continued Augustine Aumerle. “I met Reginald Dashleigh to-day, and I think that he and his lady will come to witness the ascent.” “Do you mean to say that you expect the earl as one of your guests?” exclaimed Bardon. “If nothing prevent, I think that you will meet him at my house.” “Something will prevent!” cried the old lion, shaking his white mane with haughty disdain. “I am willing to meet at your table any one else whom you may choose to invite;—I would sit down with farmer—ploughboy—pauper, but not—not with Reginald Earl of Dashleigh!” An uncomfortable silence instantly fell like cold water over the circle; the vicar, a peacemaker by nature as well as profession, was particularly annoyed by this unexpected declaration of enmity against his niece’s husband, made by one of his own oldest friends. He was in act to speak, when Mabel suddenly exclaimed, “There is the sound of a carriage!” “You must be mistaken,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “no one would come at this hour, and especially on so stormy an evening.”