These were Vixen's thoughts this bright September morning, as she sat at her lonely little breakfast-table in the sunny window of her den, with Argus by her side, intensely watchful of every morsel of bread-and-butter she ate, though he had already been accommodated with half the loaf. She was more amiably disposed than usual this morning. She had made up her mind to make the best of a painful position. "I shall always hate him," she told herself, meaning Captain Winstanley; "but I will begin a career of Christianlike hypocrisy, and try to make other people believe that I like him. No, Argus," as the big paw tugged her arm pleadingly, "no; now really this is sheer greediness. You can't be hungry." A piteous whine, as of a dog on the brink of starvation, seemed to gainsay her. Just then the door opened, and the middle-aged footman entered. "Oh, if you please, miss, Bates says would you like to see Bullfinch?" "To see Bullfinch," echoed Vixen. "What's the matter? Is he ill? Is he hurt?" "No, miss; but Bates thought as how maybe you'd like to see 'un before he goes away. He's sold." Vixen turned very pale. She started up, and stood for a few moments silent, with her strong young hands clenched, just as she gripped them on the reins sometimes when Arion was running away with her and there were bogs in front. "I'll come," she said in a half-suffocated voice. "He has sold my father's horse, after all," she said to herself, as she went towards the stables. "Then I shall hate him openly all my life. Yes, everybody shall know that I hate him." She found the stables in some commotion. There were two strangers, groomy-looking men, standing in front of Bullfinch's loose-box, and all the stablemen had come out of their various holes, and were standing about. Bates looked grave and indignant. "There isn't a finer horse in the county," he muttered; "it's a shame to send him out of it." Vixen walked straight up to the strange men, who touched their caps, and looked at her admiringly; her dark blue cloth dress fitted her like a riding-habit, her long white throat was bare, her linen collar tied loosely with a black ribbon, her chestnut hair wound into a crown of plaits at the top of her head. The severe simplicity of her dress set off her fresh young beauty. "She's the prettiest chestnut filly I've seen for a long time." one of the grooms said of her afterwards. "Thoroughbred to the tips of her ears." "Who has bought this horse?" she asked authoritatively. "My master, Lord Mallow, miss," answered the superior of the men. "You needn't be anxious about him; he'll have a rare good home." "Will you let me see the order for taking him away?" "Your groom has got it, miss." Bates showed her a sheet of paper on which Captain Winstanley had written: "Trosachs Hotel, September 12. "The bay horse, Bullfinch, is to be delivered, with clothing, &c., to Lord Mallow's groom. "C. WINSTANLEY."