There was a sort of rude overgrown fence crossed the path before us, with a gate composed of pieces of wood rough from the forest; I was about to move forward to open it, when Miss Vernon cleared the obstruction at a flying leap. I was bound in point of honour to follow, and was in a moment again at her side. “There are hopes of you yet,” she said. “I was afraid you had been a very degenerate Osbaldistone. But what on earth brings you to Cub-Castle?--for so the neighbours have christened this hunting-hall of ours. You might have stayed away, I suppose, if you would?” I felt I was by this time on a very intimate footing with my beautiful apparition, and therefore replied, in a confidential under-tone--“Indeed, my dear Miss Vernon, I might have considered it as a sacrifice to be a temporary resident in Osbaldistone Hall, the inmates being such as you describe them; but I am convinced there is one exception that will make amends for all deficiencies.” “O, you mean Rashleigh?” said Miss Vernon. “Indeed I do not; I was thinking--forgive me--of some person much nearer me.” “I suppose it would be proper not to understand your civility?--But that is not my way--I don't make a courtesy for it because I am sitting on horseback. But, seriously, I deserve your exception, for I am the only conversable being about the Hall, except the old priest and Rashleigh.” “And who is Rashleigh, for Heaven's sake?” “Rashleigh is one who would fain have every one like him for his own sake. He is Sir Hildebrand's youngest son--about your own age, but not so--not well looking, in short. But nature has given him a mouthful of common sense, and the priest has added a bushelful of learning; he is what we call a very clever man in this country, where clever men are scarce. Bred to the church, but in no hurry to take orders.” “To the Catholic Church?” “The Catholic Church? what Church else?” said the young lady. “But I forgot--they told me you are a heretic. Is that true, Mr. Osbaldistone?” “I must not deny the charge.” “And yet you have been abroad, and in Catholic countries?” “For nearly four years.” “You have seen convents?” “Often; but I have not seen much in them which recommended the Catholic religion.” “Are not the inhabitants happy?” “Some are unquestionably so, whom either a profound sense of devotion, or an experience of the persecutions and misfortunes of the world, or a natural apathy of temper, has led into retirement. Those who have adopted a life of seclusion from sudden and overstrained enthusiasm, or in hasty resentment of some disappointment or mortification, are very miserable. The quickness of sensation soon returns, and like the wilder animals in a menagerie, they are restless under confinement, while others muse or fatten in cells of no larger dimensions than theirs.”