“Why is that?” asked Miss Laura, in surprise.

“He is a gentleman, Laura, and we are only common people.  My father can’t hand a lady in and out of a carriage as Lord Chesterfield can, nor can he make so grand a bow, nor does he put on evening dress for a late dinner, and we never go to the opera nor to the theatre, and know nothing of polite society, nor can we tell exactly whom our great-great-grandfather sprang from.  I tell you, there is a gulf between us and that Englishman, wider than the one young Curtius leaped into.”

Miss Laura was laughing merrily.  “How funny that sounds, Harry.  So he despises you,” and she glanced at her good-looking cousin, and his handsome buggy and well-kept horse, and then burst into another merry peal of laughter.

Mr. Harry laughed, too.  “It does seem absurd.  Sometimes when I pass him jogging along to town in his rickety old cart, and look at his pale, cruel face, and know that he is a broken-down gambler and man of the world, and yet considers himself infinitely superior to me—­a young man in the prime of life, with a good constitution and happy prospects, it makes me turn away to hide a smile.”

By this time we had left the river and the meadows far behind us, and were passing through a thick wood.  The road was narrow and very broken, and Fleetfoot was obliged to pick his way carefully.  “Why does the Englishman live in this out-of-the-way place, if he is so fond of city life?” said Miss Laura.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Harry.  “Father is afraid that he has committed some misdeed, and is in hiding; but we say nothing about it.  We have not seen him for some weeks, and to tell the truth, this trip is as much to see what has become of him, as to make a demand upon him for the money.  As he lives alone, he might lie there ill, and no one would know anything about it.  The last time that we knew of his coming to the village was to draw quite a sum of money from the bank.  It annoyed father, for he said he might take some of it to pay his debts.  I think his relatives in England supply him with funds.  Here we are at the entrance to the mansion of Penhollow.  I must get out and open the gate that will admit us to the winding avenue.”

We had arrived in front of some bars which were laid across an opening in the snake fence that ran along one side of the road.  I sat down and looked about.  It was a strange, lonely place.  The trees almost met overhead, and it was very dim and quiet.  The sun could only send little straggling beams through the branches.  There was a muddy pool of water before the bars that Mr. Harry was letting down, and he got his feet wet in it.  “Confound that Englishman,” he said, backing out of the water, and wiping his boots on the grass.  “He hasn’t even gumption enough to throw down a load of stone there.  Drive in, Laura, and I’ll put up the bars.”  Fleetfoot took us through the opening, and then Mr. Harry jumped into the buggy and took up the reins again.