sir charles mitford had not been guilty of any exaggeration when he announced his intention of filling his house at redmoor with a very pleasant set of people. if a man have a kindly genial temper, a sense of humour, a desire to be pleasant to his fellow-creatures, such qualities, however they may have hitherto been concealed, will make themselves felt during a sojourn at a friend's well-filled country-house. there the heavy man, who has sat by one at a dozen dinner-parties during the season and never opened his mouth except to fill it, is discovered to be full of antiquarian erudition about the old castles and abbeys in the neighbourhood; and imparts his information, pleasantly studded with quaint anecdote and pungent remark. there lady katherine gives up her perpetual simper, and rests her aching lips, and occasionally covers her gleaming teeth. there mrs. phillimore mixes for a while with people in her own rank of life, and temporarily denies herself the pleasure of hunting orphans into asylums, and dealing out tea and bibles to superannuated crones. grinsby would have gone through life despised as a cockney littérateur,--indeed, they intended to have immense fun out of him at the duke's,--if he had not knocked over that brace of woodcock, right and left barrel; if, in fact, he had not made better shooting than any other man of the party; and tom copus would never have given that delicious imitation of little mr. loudswell, the blatant barrister, had it not been coaxed out of him during the private theatricals at eversholt park. what glorious flirtations, what happy marriages, what fun, enjoyable at the time, and lasting source of retrospective enjoyment for long after, have arisen from the gatherings in country-houses! in these days of imitation it is also gratifying to know that country-house society is essentially english. monseigneur le duc de hausse et baisse has a gathering at his terre, or the graf von hasenbraten fills his ancestral castle at suchverloren with intending assistants at a treibejagd: but the french people are very unhappy; they long to be back in paris, and they seek consolation in dressing and behaving exactly as if they had never quitted that city; while the manner of life among the germans alters never;--to shoot a very little, to eat and drink a great deal, and the "sooner it's over the sooner to sleep,"--such are the simple conditions of teutonic happiness.

the party at redmoor was large and well constituted. captain and mrs. charteris, whom everybody knew, were there. tom charteris had been in the enniskillens; had run through all his money, and was in daily expectation of being sold up, when his uncle, the senior partner in a large distillery, died, leaving tom such a share in the business as would bring him in an excellent income, on the sole condition that he should leave the army, and personally attend to the management of the distillery. it is probable that tom would have been sufficiently idiotic to refuse compliance with these conditions; but, fortunately, he had taken to himself a wife, a young lady who was the daughter of the church-organist in a little town where the enniskillens had been quartered, and who gave lessons in music and singing to the resident gentry. she was a pretty piquante little person; and tom, lounging out of the barrack-window while he smoked his after-breakfast pipe, had seen her tripping to and fro, always neat, active, and sprightly, and always displaying a remarkably pretty foot and ankle. admiration of pretty feet and ankles was among tom's weaknesses, and he watched the little music-mistress with great interest, and began to look forward to her daily appearance with delight. then he got an introduction to her,--without any definite end or aim, for good or for bad, but simply to amuse himself; then he became fascinated by her, and finally he married her. it was mrs. tom who insisted upon big jolly old tom giving up the army and taking to the distillery and the money. she was a funny little woman, and would make her intimates shout with laughter at her imitation of tom striding about the counting-house among the clerks (he never could get rid of his dragoon-swagger), and talking a haw-haw to the publicans who came to borrow money or beg for time. they had a pretty little house in clarges street, whence tom would bowl away every morning at 9.30 to the distillery in barbican, remaining there till half-past four, when mrs. tom would call for him in the brougham, and air him in the park till dinner-time. everybody knew them, and hats were bobbing off over the iron-railings all down the drive as they passed. whenever a stoppage occurred tom had to stand a running fire of chaff, being asked what it was a quartern, whether he'd like a drop of something short, with other jokes, in which the phrases "white tape" and "blue ruin" played conspicuous parts. the little house in clarges street was a great resort for a select few after the opera, and many well-known men would drop in to have the claw of a lobster and a glass of champagne, or to smoke a final cigar whilst listening to mrs. tom's brilliant playing--till two a.m., when tom turned his guests out, declaring he was a poor tradesman, and had to be up early to business. the house was a pleasant one, where there was a certain amount of laissez-aller freedom, but where tom took care that his wife was thoroughly respected.

then mrs. masters, always spoken of as "pretty mrs. masters," or "the pretty widow," was of the party,--a tall handsome woman with large eyes and masses of floating light brown hair, relict of old dr. masters, who had left her a capital income, which she seemed determined to keep to herself. not more than eight-and-twenty, and eminently attractive, she was a source of wonder to her friends, who could not understand why she did not marry again. she had numbers of visitors, male and female; she went into society constantly, and did her due share of dancing and flirtation; but the latter was so mild in kind, and so general in its nature, that no man's name had ever been coupled with hers. her most intimate enemies raised a report that she was at one time madly in love with colonel alsager; but if there was any truth in the rumour, she managed her madness so admirably as never to show a trace of it. she was invaluable in a country-house, for she was thoroughly good-tempered, entered heart and soul into everything that was proposed, and was a great bait for vain bachelors, whose vanity was specially piqued at her long resistance to the charms of their sex. with mrs. masters came her cousins, two young ladies named tyrrell, whose father was a judge in india, who were of the ordinary stamp of pretty, pert, self-satisfied twenty-year-olds.

the other ladies in the house do not call for description. chief amongst the men was captain bligh, who, as he walked about and inspected the alterations which had been made under his directions, wondered whether his old father would ever relent, and whether he should have a chance of putting the old hall down in norfolk in order for himself; or whether he should go on betting and billiard-playing and steeplechase-riding until he "went a tremendous mucker," and either blew his brains out or levanted. and there was major winton, who, dressed in a pair of enormous thigh-boots, a dreadnaught, and a sou'-wester, and accompanied by a keeper, went away every morning at dawn to lie out in the marshes for snipe and wild-fowl, and who did not return till dinner-time; immediately after which meal he was accustomed to retire to his bed-room, where a case-bottle of brandy, a jar of cavendish tobacco, a huge meerschaum-pipe, and the adventures of the chevalier faublas, were awaiting him; and with these he would occupy himself until he went to bed. laurence alsager was at redmoor also, though his visit to his father was yet unpaid; and so was lord dollamore. the officers of the garrison had called, and the officers of the frigate cruising off torquay, and the neighbouring gentry; and the whole party seemed to enjoy themselves except sir charles mitford,--whose happiness was not to be long delayed, for the hammonds were expected on a certain day, which now dawned upon the impatient master of redmoor.

he had returned home after luncheon, leaving the shooting party under the charge of captain bligh, and had been in a state of undisguisable anxiety all the afternoon, unable to settle himself to anything; now playing a stroke or two at billiards, and looking on at tom charteris, who was practising certain hazards preparatory to a match with bligh; now strolling through the drawing-room, where alsager was talking to lady mitford and mrs. masters; now interrupting lord dollamore, who was stretched out in an easy-chair in the library reading montaigne. sir charles's impatience and restlessness was not unobserved by any of these. tom charteris supposed he was already sick of the quiet of the country, and contemplated recommending him a turn in the distillery by way of a cure. lady mitford could not understand his restlessness, and feared charley had been annoyed about something. mrs. masters ascribed it to want of savoir faire on the baronet's part, only colonel alsager and lord dollamore guessed its real cause. the former frowned portentously as he watched his host; and the latter vas considerably amused.

"this is positively a very delicious experience of life," thought dollamore, as he laid aside his book; "i could not have had a more charming field for study. so many different characters too! there is that remarkably uncouth person our host, who is so horribly raw and undisciplined as to be unable to behave himself decently when expecting the last object of his calf-love, and there's that modern bayard, alsager, who has undoubtedly a tendresse for our hostess, and who as undeniably wore laura hammond's colours a little time ago, and bolted because of some inexplicable row with her. and there's laura hammond herself--delicious creature--with a newly-caught mouse in her mouth; and yet her eye constantly roving over the late captive playing round her, lest he should escape beyond possibility of recapture. there's that good-looking widow, too, who is as cold as ice, but who is supposed to have thawed a little once in bayard's favour. and then there's lady mitford herself, who is worth all the rest of the women put together. what grace, what beauty, what thoroughly unsophisticated charms and real naturalness of manner! by jove! compared to her, the widow is a giraffe, and the hammond a dairy-maid. talk of their birth and breeding! why this country-parson's daughter has the air and manner of a duchess. they will try and set upon her when she comes to town,--that old clanronald, who looks like a cook, and the tappington with her three daughters like grenadiers in petticoats; but if she has any pluck--and i think she has, under all that quietude--she'll ride them down right and left; and she'll have all the men on her side, though i don't know that that's any pull. meantime this oaf is entertaining an angel unawares, and neglecting her,--is standing at the door of his tent ogling the daughters of the cities of the plain. so much the better for bayard and--and for others. but the imbroglio is delightful, and i couldn't wish for better fun than to stand by and watch the play; cutting-in of course when i see a chance of holding winning cards."

and then lord dollamore rubbed his hands with great gusto, and applied himself with renewed delight to his volume of french philosophy.

at length the noise of wheels on the hard drive was heard, and sir charles rang the bell and summoned the servants, and, had the hall-door thrown open, and stood on the steps ready to receive his guests in person. drawn by four horses at full gallop, mr. hammond's carriage came thundering along the drive, and ere it pulled up at the door lady mitford had joined her husband, prepared to echo his words of welcome. with her came colonel alsager,--carrying in his hand a light shawl, which he pressed upon her acceptance when he saw the door open, and felt the rush of the cold air, which sent the flames roaring up from the great open fireplace,--and also lord dollamore, who smiled placidly to himself as he saw this act of attention. "none but your regular bayard would have done that," said he to himself; "wonderfully thoughtful fellows they are, by jove!" he suffered under a slight lameness, and always carried a malacca cane, with an ivory crutch-handle, declared by the men at the club to be his familiar, the recipient of his confidence, and the suggester of many of his iniquities. he carried it now, and rapped it against his teeth, and laid it to his ear, as though he were listening to its counsel.

"there they are," he continued, "in a close carriage of course, because of my husband's health; but i'm at the open window, and remarkably well i look. blue always became me, and my eyes are bright, and i've got a high colour. how do you do? my hand out at the window, and a very palpable squeeze to the oaf, who is blushing, by jove, like a great schoolboy,--a very palpable squeeze. steps down now, and, leaning heavily on his arm, out we jump, and--o yes, dear lady mitford! kiss, kiss--you she-judas!--and--hallo! rather astonished at seeing bayard, eh? how do you do, colonel alsager? i scarcely thought you would be here. no, of course not; one string too many for her bow. now for me!--needn't ask you how you are, mrs. hammond; never saw you looking more charming.--and she smiles and passes on. lord help us! is this percy hammond, this unfortunate object that they are helping out now? why, he's only a year or two older than i; left haileybury while i was at eton; but what an awful wreck he is! what on earth made him marry a second time,--especially such a woman as this! hallo! who have we here? tall young woman; severely got up, but a neat figure, and a good stepper too. very cold bow from sir charles; little hand-shake from my lady. must be the governess. o yes, that's it; and there's the child. now, then, all the characters are assembled; ring up the curtain--the play's begun."

lord dollamore was right; it had been a palpable hand-squeeze, palpable to him, palpable to laurence alsager, palpable to her from whom it should have been specially hidden--lady mitford. she saw it, but could scarcely believe she had seen aright; but then she noticed the manner in which mrs. hammond leaned on sir charles's arm, and a certain look which passed between them as she alighted. the next instant her guest had caught hold of both her hands, and was embracing her with effusion; but just before georgie had had time to steal one glance at laurence alsager's face, and to read in the lowering brow and compressed lips that he too had noticed the empressement of the meeting. the whole thing was so thoroughly strange to her, so utterly unexpected, that she did not know how to act. her first impulse was to drag herself out of mrs. hammond's embrace, to call her a false bad woman, and to go off in a flood of tears; but fortunately she did not attempt this experiment. she did the very best thing under the circumstances, and that was--nothing. she freed herself from her visitor's embracing arms when she had unresponsive received her kiss, and murmured a few commonplaces about her delight at seeing her; and then she went forward to say a passing word of kindness to mr. hammond as he was helped past her by his servants, to exchange salutations with miss gillespie, and to kiss the child's forehead. by this time she was perfectly ready to do the honours of her house, and to follow her husband, on whose arm mrs. hammond was already leaning, to the suite of rooms prepared for the guests. these were, as sir charles had said, the best in the house; and as they entered them, georgie remembered how he had specially reserved them for the hammonds, and she winced as her eye lighted on a splendid bouquet of hot-house flowers arranged in a vase on the writing-table. the fires burned brightly, and there was a sufficient air of comfort to justify mrs. hammond in clasping her hands and exclaiming, "how very, very charming! everything in such exquisite taste; and oh, what lovely flowers, lady mitford! you know my passion for flowers, and have indeed taken pains to gratify it. georgie bowed in an icy manner, and sir charles glowed from his head to his feet.

"it's too late to look out now, but i've no doubt that the prospect's delightful."

"looks towards the south. good for hammond, and that kind of thing," said sir charles, explanatorily.

"we'll leave you now, mrs. hammond; the first dinner-bell has just rung," said georgie, moving towards the door.

"anything you want you've only to ring for, you know; so find out something to ask for by dinner-time. do! you know you've only to ask and have in this house."

georgie did not hear this last remark. she was hurrying as quickly as she could towards her own room; and on reaching it she flung herself on a sofa, and burst into tears.

it was the custom at redmoor to assemble previous to the announcement of dinner in the library,--a large room, rather solemn with its dark oak bookcases, and when lighted only by two or three moderator-lamps, placed on small tables. such was sir charles's whim; he had a notion that the removal from darkness to light awoke a corresponding cheerfulness; and though it had been often combated by georgie, on this occasion she was grateful for any respite from the public gaze, and every opportunity of recovering her wonted calmness. clang! goes the gong. "dinner is served." through the indistinct gloom mrs. hammond is seen sailing away on the arm of sir charles. alsager has the widow for his companion, and feels a thrill run up his coat-sleeve, to which the arm within his coat-sleeve does not respond. there are officers from the garrison, who file off with the tyrrell girls and with the young ladies, members of the neighbouring families; and the procession is closed by lady mitford, escorted by lord dollamore, who takes the opportunity of saying, "charming woman mrs. hammond; so frank, ingenuous, and open! so devoted to her poor invalid husband--don't you think so?" and when lady mitford responds, "yes, o yes, quite so," lord dollamore lifts the ivory crutch-handle of his malacca cane to his mouth, and seems whispering to it untellable jokes.

the dinner was very good; but that was more due to bligh than to any one else, even to lady mitford. the chef who had been let to the mitfords with the house in eaton place had stuck to his bargain, and refused to go into the country. he had his club, his menus plaisirs, and he declined to leave them. so the jolly captain looked about, took mrs. austin the housekeeper into confidence, and found out from her that there was a woman who had lived as kitchen-maid in the first families, and who had always thought of bettering herself, but never had the chance, and was then at sir john rumbold's, hard by. this person was fetched over, and directed to try her prentice-hand at cooking a steak and a potato for captain bligh, that achievement being, as he opined, the great touchstone of the culinary art; and having been thoroughly successful, she was borrowed for a few days and further tried, and finally engaged. the dinner was so good that every one enjoyed it, even poor percy hammond, who had roused himself sufficiently to come to table, and whose eyes brightened under the influence of a bottle of the celebrated old madeira placed at his side. it was not the old madeira which caused mrs. hammond's eyes to brighten, but they had never shone more brilliantly, and her spirits had never been higher. she talked incessantly, addressing her conversation chiefly to her host, on whose right hand she was seated.

"i suppose you have some charming old places about here, sir charles?--abbeys, and ruins, and castles," said she after a pause.

"i daresay there are, but as i have only just come here, you know, i can't say. major maxse, no doubt, can tell you; they've been quartered in the neighbourhood for the last twelve months, and know every inch of it.--maxse, mrs. hammond asks whether there are any old ruins, castles, abbeys, that sort of thing, in the neighbourhood. i tell her she should inquire of you, a the likeliest person to know."

major maxse, the gentleman addressed, a good-looking middle-aged man, replied, "well, i really think i might earn an honest livelihood by setting up as guide to this region. though we've been here little more than a twelvemonth, i've been so horribly bored that i think i have explored every nook and corner of the country within a circle of fifty miles; and i am very happy to tell mrs. hammond that there are all sorts of ruins for her to choose from, with all sorts of architecture, and all sorts of legends attached. for example, there's egremont priory."

"that's boscastle's place, isn't it?" said lord dollamore, from the other end of the table; "who made the legend about that? one of the family probably; for there never was a boscastle yet who was known to speak truth, even by accident."

"first-rate place for wild-ducks," said major winton: "don't send any confounded picnic people there, maxse; they'll scare the birds."

"even at the risk of being considered confounded picnic people, if it's a pretty place, and has a good story attached to it, i propose that we make a party and go," said georgie.

she was a little astonished at herself when she had said this, but she had said it purposely. she was wondering what it was that had attracted her husband in mrs. hammond which she herself did not possess; and she thought perhaps it was a certain dash and verve, to which she had never pretended, but which her rival undoubtedly displayed. poor georgie felt that perhaps she had been a little too tame and sedate; and this speech was her first attempt in the opposite direction.

"charmingly said, lady mitford; the very thing," said mrs. hammond. "and i think we could go, even if there were no story at all--"

"there's round tower which is occupied by an old woman, who'll boil potatoes, and lay the cloth, and that kind of thing--all under shelter, you know," said captain bligh, who was of an eminently practical turn.

"o no; but we must have the legend," said lord dollamore. "come, major maxse, you don't get off telling us the boscastle legend."

"oh, it's the old story with the usual ingredients--love and a ghost," said major maxse.

"yes; but what love? whose ghost?" asked mrs. hammond. "you promised to tell me, major maxse, and we're all attention."

"it is simply this. after the restoration roger boscastle, who had been serving with the royalists from the beginning of the war, and who had had to fly the country after naseby, came back to his estates and to his wife, who during her husband's absence had been living with her own family, strict parliamentarians. lady boscastle was a very lovely woman; but a little strict and rigid, and scarcely suited to a rollicking swashbuckler like her husband. one day there arrived at egremont priory a troop of horse escorting a beautiful lady and her father, both foreigners, who had done the king much service in time of need, and who had known roger boscastle when abroad. roger seemed very much surprised to see them, and so did lady mildred; the latter more especially when first the old nobleman threw his arms round roger's neck and exclaimed, 'mon fils!' and then the young lady did ditto and exclaimed, 'mon amour!' but they were neither of them so astonished as were the old gentleman and the young lady when roger led lady mildred forward and presented her as his wife. they were thoroughly taken aback, and the young lady muttered to roger under her breath something which lady mildred could not catch, but which, by the expression of her eyes, must have been very unpleasant. however, they took up their abode in the castle, whither they had been commended by the king; and they were very polite, especially the lady, to mildred, who hated her with such hatred as is only felt by a woman who suspects another of carrying on with her husband."

"bravo, maxse!" interrupted lord dollamore; "gad, that's really quite graphic,--that last sentence. you've mistaken your profession, maxse; you ought to have been an author."

"i'm afraid the last sentence was cribbed from the guidebook to the county. however, to cut my story short, one night lady mildred overheard a conversation between her husband and pepita (that was the foreign lady's name), from which it was pretty clear that roger had represented himself as a single man when abroad, and had actually married pepita. then mildred had a stormy interview with roger, and told him of her intention to leave him the next day and go to her brother. but the next morning she was found dead, stabbed to the heart with a dagger, round the handle of which was a scrap of paper, inscribed 'in a spaniard's way;' and pepita, her father, and roger boscastle were all gone. the latter came back when quite an old man, but was found dead in his bed the morning after his arrival; frightened, it is supposed, by the ghost of lady mildred, which in stormy weather duly walks the castle, wringing its hands and waving the bloody dagger in the air."

"no, i don't like the last bit," said lord dollamore; "too much like richardson's show. all the rest very good and dramatic; don't you think so, lady milford?"

"oh, very good indeed--thoroughly interesting; and, as usual, the only innocent person in the story was punished."

"that was because she was innocent," said lord dollamore; "there must have been eligible persons, even among her roundhead friends; how very much better to have consoled herself with--"

"as usual, you miss the point of the story, lord dollamore," said alsager, hotly interrupting; "surely it would have been better to have been the murdered than the murderess in such a case."

"it's very lucky there are not any such cases now-a-days," said sir charles. "no woman would put a knife into another now."

"into any one who stood between me and my love i would, for one," said mrs. hammond under her breath; and she looked for a moment so fierce, that mitford said, "gad, i believe you!" in a similar tone.

when the ladies had left the room laurence alsager said to lord dollamore: "you had heard that story before?"

"what story, my dear alsager?"

"the legend of egremont priory."

"had i? not unlikely. you know i'm a very eccentric reader, and delight in odd stories."

"it's a pity you did not save maxse the trouble of telling it again."

"do you think so? well, do you know i can't agree with you? its recital seemed to bring out the character of some of our friends in the highest degree; and if there is anything i delight in, it is the study of character."