“And now, sir,” burst in Repton, who had waited outside the door,--“and now, sir, I beg you to accept the humblest apology I can tender for what has happened. I 'm not as safe on my saddle as I used to be forty years ago; and when the nag reared and threatened to fall back upon me, I am ashamed to own that I neither saw nor cared what I struck at. I 'd have said all this to you, Mr. Massingbred, after your fire, had we been permitted to go the ground; and although there is some additional humiliation in saying it here, I richly deserve all the pain it gives me, for my want of temper. Will you give me your hand?” “With sincere pleasure,” said Jack, shaking him warmly and cordially with both his own. “There 's but one thing more to be done,” said Repton. “These borough magistrates, vulgar dogs as they are, will want you to give a bail bond. Take no notice of them, but just drive out with me to Cro' Martin, and we 'll settle it all there.” “I am not acquainted with Mr. Martin.” “But you shall be. He 'll be charmed to know you, and the place is worth seeing. Come, you mustn't leave the West with only its barbarism in your memory. You must carry away some other recollections.” The new turn affairs had just taken was by no means distasteful to Massingbred. It promised another scene in that drama of life he loved to fashion for himself, with new scenery, new actors, and new incidents. “The Counsellor,” too, struck his fancy. There was a raciness in the old man's manner, a genial cordiality, united with such palpable acuteness, that he promised himself much pleasure in his society; and so he accepted the proposal with all willingness, and pledged to hold himself ready for his friend within an hour. Repton and the Major had but just left the room, when the former re-entered it hurriedly, and said, “By the way, I must leave you to your own guidance to find your road to Cro' Martin, for there's a young lady below stairs has a lien upon me. You shall be presented to her when you come out, and I promise you it will repay the journey.” “This must be the Mary Martin I 've been hearing of,” thought Massingbred, when again alone; “and so the morning's work will probably turn out better than I had anticipated.” CHAPTER XVII. A COUNTRY-HOUSE