“God be praised for it!” said Tate, piously, but in a voice that showed it was rather a wish he expressed than a conviction, when, suspecting that he had suffered some portion of his fears to escape, he added more cheerfully, “And is n't Master Lionel grown an iligant, fine young man! When I seen him comin' up the stairs, it was just as if the forty-eight years that's gone over was only a dhrame, and I was looking at your honor the day you came home from college; he has the same way with bis arms, and carries his head like you, and the same light step. Musha!” muttered he, below his breath, “the ould families never die out, but keep their looks to the last.” “He's a fine fellow, Tate!” said the Knight, turning towards the window, for, while flattered by the old man's praises of his son, a deep pang shot through his heart at the wide disparity of fortune with which life opened for both of them. At the instant an arm was drawn round him, and Helen stood at his side: she was in her riding-habit, and looking in perfect beauty. Darcy gazed at her for a few seconds, and with such evident admiration that she, as if accepting the compliment, drew herself up, and, smiling, said, “Yes, nothing short of conquest. Lionel told his friends to expect a very unformed country girl; they shall see at least she can ride.” “No harebrained risks, Helen, dearest. I'm to take the field to-day, and you must n't shake my nerve; for I want to bring no disgrace on my county.” “I was but jesting, my own dear papa,” said she, drawing closer to him; “but I really felt so curious to see these English horsemen's performance that I asked Lionel to train Alice for me.” “And Lionel, of course, but too happy to show his pretty sister--” “Nay, nay, if you will quiz, I must only confess that my head is quite turned already; our noble cousin overwhelms me with flatteries which, upon the principle the Indian accepts glass beads and spangles as gems, and gold, I take as real value. But here he comes.” And Lord Netherby, attired for the field in all the accuracy of costume, slipped towards them. After came Colonel Crofton, a well-known fashionable of the clubs and a hanger-on of the peer; then Sir Harry Beauclerk, a young baronet of vast fortune, gay, good-tempered, and extravagant; while several others of lesser note, brother officers of Lionel's and men about town, brought up the rear, one only deserving remark, a certain Captain, or, as he was better known, Tom Nolan,--a strange, ambiguous kind of fellow, always seen in the world, constantly met at the best houses, and yet nobody being able to explain why he was asked, nor--as it very often happened--who asked him.