Seated at the library-table, with his elbows well squared, a young man of about one-and-twenty is dashing off a letter. He is Geoffrey Saville, first cousin to Lady Fairfax, and has lately joined the Fifth Hussars--so lately that he is still doing riding-school, from which a fortnight’s visit to Looton has afforded him temporary emancipation. He is a slim, bright-eyed, loose-limbed boy, with small impudent hazel eyes, an aristocratic nose, and light-brown hair, of which one utterly unreasonable lock always sticks up on the top of his head, cut, and comb, and oil as he will. He is possessed of the highest of spirits, the best of appetites, and unlimited assurance. He is gay, gentlemanly, and generous, and swears by his new cousin, but old friend, Sir Reginald Fairfax. Here is his letter: “MY DEAR NOBBS, “I promised to send you a line to let you know how I was getting on. Rex and Alice make no end of a good host and hostess; the feeding is superior, and as to horses, I am ‘all found.’ Rex mounts me as he mounts himself, and I take it out of his cattle fairly. “We have had two or three good runs with the R. B. H. and Overstones, especially last Tuesday; found at Heplow--(you don’t know where that is, but never mind)--and ran to Clumber, a distance of eight miles as the crow flies, with only one slight check. The pace was prime, the grief awful. The fields were large and airy, but some of the fences, notably the bullfinches, were real raspers. The finish was highly select--Alice, Reginald, two cavalry men, a parson, the huntsman, and yours obediently. Alice goes like a bird; and in a neat double-breasted brown habit and pot-hat to match, and mounted on a clipping bay thoroughbred, looks very ‘fit’ indeed. Rex pilots her, and they make a very fair average example of the field. You know what a customer he is. She follows him as if she had a spare neck in her pocket, and charges wood and water as boldly as he does himself. “Talking of water, there is a brute of a river here, called the Swale, which winds about in the most mysterious manner. You come across it when you least expect it. I have already been in twice! I paid my second visit last Friday. I was steaming along close to the pack, when what should I see in front of me but this sneak of a river. I rammed in the spurs, and thundered down to it as hard as I could go, but I had already bucketed the old horse too freely: he bore down as if he meant business, stopped short, and shot me over his head into about seven feet of muddy water. I’ll leave you to imagine the figure I was when I picked myself out!