perceived, fell upon them, and they looked at each other with an
expression of pain and embarrassment. Gilbert's face faded to a sallow
paleness, and his eyes were fastened upon those of the speaker with a
fierce and dangerous intensity. Mr. Ferris colored, turned away, and
called to his hounds.

Fortune was too sharp an observer not to remark the disturbance. He
cried out, and his words produced an instant, general sense of relief:--

"It's been a fine run, friends, and we can't do better than ride back to
the Hammer and Trowel, and take a 'smaller'--or a 'bigger' for that
matter--at my expense. You must let me pay my footing now, for I hope to
ride with you many a time to come. Faith! If I don't happen to buy that
place down by the Rising Sun, I'll try to find another, somewhere about
New London or Westgrove, so that we can be nearer neighbors."

With that he grinned, rather than smiled; but although his manner would
have struck a cool observer as being mocking instead of cordial, the
invitation was accepted with great show of satisfaction, and the
horsemen fell into pairs, forming a picturesque cavalcade as they passed
under the tall, leafless oaks.

Gilbert Potter speedily recovered his self-possession, but his face was
stern and his manner abstracted. Even the marked and careful kindness of
his friends seemed secretly to annoy him, for it constantly suggested
the something by which it had been prompted. Mr. Alfred Barton, however,
whether under the influence of Fortune's friendship, or from a late
suspicion of his duties as host of the day, not unkindly complimented
the young man, and insisted on filling his glass. Gilbert could do no
less than courteously accept the attention, but he shortly afterwards