The poisoning of our hounds led, however, to no further trouble at the time, and so the winter slipt away, and, at last, we burst into the glorious Virginian spring, a season when all Nature awakes and breaks into golden luxuriance. Then the pines begin to put on their fresh green cones and the gum-trees their leaves, the flowers spring forth as though born in a night, the creepers clothe themselves in tender green, and all the woods become gay with the songs of birds--the golden oriole, the mock-bird, and the whip-poor-will. And over and around all is the balmy warmth of a southern spring, the brightness of a southern sun, and the clear, blue atmosphere of a southern sky. It was on such a day as this, in the afternoon, that I going down to see if my roses, which grew on that side of the lawn by which the road passed, were budding, observed a gentleman ride up the road, and, dismounting from his horse, take off his hat and advance to me. "Madam," he said, "I think, from what I gathered in your village, that I am not mistaken. This is Pomfret Manor, is it not?" This young gentleman--for I guessed he was but little older than I--was so handsome and bewitching to look upon, that, as I answered him, I could but gaze at him. His face, from which shone forth two eyes that to my foolish fancy seemed like stars, was oval, and his complexion, though much browned, very clear, while his other features were most shapely. He wore no wig--which seemed strange to a Virginian, where the wig is considered the certain mark, or necessary accompaniment, of a gentleman--yet he did well not to do so, for, besides considering the warmth of the day, his hair was most beautiful to see, since it hung down in dark brown curls to his shoulders where it reposed in a great mass. His apparel was plain, being a dark green riding-suit trimmed with silver lace, and he wore riding-boots of a handsome shape, while by his side he carried a small sword. "It is Pomfret Manor, sir," I replied, noticing all these things. "May I ask what is your will?" "I come, madam," he said, "first with the desire to renew a friendship with one for whom I cherish the warmest recollections; ay! for one who was my friend when I had scarce another, or only one other, in the world; and secondly, to pay my respects to Mr. Nicholas Bampfyld, to whom my family owe a debt." "Sir," I said, "whatever your debt may be to Mr. Bampfyld it can never be paid now. My father has been dead these three years." He looked surprised, and then said, "Dead! Madam, I grieve to hear it. I had hoped to see him. And Mr. Kinchella, the friend I seek, he, I hope and trust, is well." "He is very well," I answered, "and is now in my house with my friend, Miss Mills, to whom he is under engagement to be shortly married." "To be married," he said, with a smile, tho' a grave one; "to be married! This is indeed good news. He should make a worthy husband if ever man did."