his friend that the Earl's equanimity was undisturbed. He reached
the solitary wayside tavern called Lornton Inn--the rendezvous of
many a daring poacher for operations in the adjoining forest; and he
might have observed, if he had taken the trouble, a strange post-
chaise standing in the halting-space before the inn. He duly sped
past it, and half-an-hour after through the little town of Warborne.
Onward, a mile farther, was the house of his entertainer.

At this date it was an imposing edifice--or, rather, congeries of
edifices--as extensive as the residence of the Earl himself; though
far less regular. One wing showed extreme antiquity, having huge
chimneys, whose substructures projected from the external walls like
towers; and a kitchen of vast dimensions, in which (it was said)
breakfasts had been cooked for John of Gaunt. Whilst he was yet in
the forecourt he could hear the rhythm of French horns and
clarionets, the favourite instruments of those days at such
entertainments.

Entering the long parlour, in which the dance had just been opened
by Lady Grebe with a minuet--it being now seven o'clock, according
to the tradition--he was received with a welcome befitting his rank,
and looked round for Barbara. She was not dancing, and seemed to be
preoccupied--almost, indeed, as though she had been waiting for him.
Barbara at this time was a good and pretty girl, who never spoke ill
of any one, and hated other pretty women the very least possible.
She did not refuse him for the country-dance which followed, and
soon after was his partner in a second.

The evening wore on, and the horns and clarionets tootled merrily.
Barbara evinced towards her lover neither distinct preference nor