be with the poor brute flying from his persecutors.'

She was in a bitter state of trepidation, or she would have thought twice
before she touched a nerve of the enamoured lady, as she knew she did in
calling her swain a poor brute, and did again by pertinaciously pursuing:

'Does he then shun his captivity?'

'Touching a nerve' is one of those unforgivable small offences which, in
our civilized state, produce the social vendettas and dramas that, with
savage nations, spring from the spilling of blood. Instead of an eye for
an eye, a tooth for a tooth, we demand a nerve for a nerve. 'Thou hast
touched me where I am tender thee, too, will I touch.'

Miss Carrington had been alarmed and hurt at the strange evasion of Mr.
George; nor could she see the fun of his mimicry of the fox and his
flight away from instead of into her neighbourhood. She had also, or she
now thought it, remarked that when Mr. George had been spoken of
casually, the Countess had not looked a natural look. Perhaps it was her
present inflamed fancy. At any rate the Countess was offensive now. She
was positively vulgar, in consequence, to the mind of Miss Carrington,
and Miss Carrington was drawn to think of a certain thing Ferdinand
Laxley had said he had heard from the mouth of this lady's brother when
ale was in him. Alas! how one seed of a piece of folly will lurk and
sprout to confound us; though, like the cock in the eastern tale, we peck
up zealously all but that one!

The carriage rolled over the turf, attended by Andrew, and Lady Jocelyn,
and the hunt was seen; Mr. George some forty paces a-head; Seymour
gaining on him, Rose next.