The others laughed, some contemptuously, glancing at their own well-equipped animals the while, some constrainedly, for they knew the approaching guest, and felt a slight compunction in seeming to side with Mr. Ferris. Barton began to smile stiffly, but presently bit his lip and drew his brows together. Pressing the handle of his riding-whip against his chin, he stared vacantly up the lane, muttering “We must wait, I suppose.” His lids were lifted in wonder the next moment; he seized Ferris by the arm, and exclaimed:-- “Whom have we here?” All eyes turned in the same direction, descried a dashing horseman in the lane. “Upon my soul I don't know,” said Ferris. “Anybody expected from the Fagg's Manor way?” “Not of my inviting,” Barton answered. The other guests professed their entire ignorance of the stranger, who, having by this time passed the bars, rode directly up to the group. He was a short, broad-shouldered man of nearly forty, with a red, freckled face, keen, snapping gray eyes, and a close, wide mouth. Thick, jet-black whiskers, eyebrows and pig-tail made the glance of those eyes, the gleam of his teeth, and the color of his skin where it was not reddened by the wind, quite dazzling. This violent and singular contrast gave his plain, common features an air of distinction. Although his mulberry coat was somewhat faded, it had a jaunty cut, and if his breeches were worn and stained, the short, muscular thighs and strong knees they covered, told of a practised horseman. He rode a large bay gelding, poorly groomed, and apparently not remarkable for blood, but with no marks of harness on his rough coat. “Good-day to you, gentlemen!” said the stranger, familiarly knocking the handle of his whip against his cocked hat. “Squire Barton, how do you do?” “How do you do, sir?” responded Mr. Barton, instantly flattered by the title, to which he had no legitimate right. “I believe,” he added, “you have the advantage of me.” A broad smile, or rather grin, spread over the stranger's face. His teeth flashed, and his eyes shot forth a bright, malicious ray. He hesitated a moment, ran rapidly over the faces of the others without perceptibly moving his head, and noting the general curiosity, said, at last:-- “I hardly expected to find an acquaintance in this neighborhood, but a chase makes quick fellowship. I happened to hear of it at the Anvil Tavern,--am on my way to the Rising Sun; so, you see, if the hunt goes down Tuffkenamon, as is likely, it's so much of a lift on the way.” “All right,--glad to have you join us. What did you say your name was?” inquired Mr. Barton. “I didn't say what; it's Fortune,--a fortune left to me by my father, ha! ha! Don't care if I do”--