cheerfully accepts the order of things as bequeathed to her:  the everlastingly half-satisfied young man, who looks forward to the hour when his cigar-light will shine; and the damsel thrice demure as a cover for her eagerness.  Within a certain distance of one of the carriages, a man rode on horseback.  The court of the castle was reached, and he turned aside, lingering to see whether he could get a view of the lighted steps.  To effect his object, he dismounted and led his horse through the gates, turning from gravel to sward, to keep in the dusk.  A very agile middle-aged gentleman was the first to appear under the portico-lamps, and he gave his hand to a girl of fifteen, and then to a most portly lady in a scarlet mantle.  The carriage-door slammed and drove off, while a groan issued from the silent spectator.  “Good heavens! have I followed these horrible people for five-and-twenty miles!” Carriage after carriage rattled up to the steps, was disburdened of still more ’horrible people’ to him, and went the way of the others.  “I shan’t see her, after all,” he cried hoarsely, and mounting, said to the beast that bore him, “Now go sharp.”

Whether you recognize the rider of Hippogriff or not, this is he; and the poor livery-stable screw stretched madly till wind failed, when he was allowed to choose his pace.  Wilfrid had come from London to have sight of Emilia in the black-briony wreath:  to see her, himself unseen, and go.  But he had not seen her; so he had the full excuse to continue the adventure.  He rode into a Welsh town, and engaged a fresh horse for the night.

“She won’t sing, at all events,” thought Wilfrid, to comfort himself, before the memory that she could not, in any case, touched springs of weakness and pitying tenderness.  From an eminence to which he walked outside the town, Penarvon was plainly visible with all its lighted windows.

“But I will pluck her from you!” he muttered, in a spasm of jealousy; the image of himself as an outcast against the world that held her, striking him with great force at that moment.

“I must give up the Austrian commission, if she takes me.”

And be what?  For he had sold out of the English service, and was to receive the money in a couple of days.  How long would the money support him?  It would not pay half his debts!  What, then, did this pursuit of Emilia mean?  To blink this question, he had to give the spur to Hippogriff.  It meant (upon Hippogriff at a brisk gallop), that he intended to live for her, die for her, if need be, and carve out of the world all that she would require.  Everything appears possible, on Hippogriff, when he is going; but it is a bad business to put the spur on so willing a beast.  When he does not go of his own will;—­when he sees that there are obstructions, it is best to jump off his back.  And we should abandon him then, save that having once tasted what he can do for us, we become enamoured of the habit of going keenly, and defying obstacles.  Thus do we begin to corrupt the uses of the gallant beast (for he is a gallant beast, though not of the first order); we spoil his instincts and train him to hurry us to perdition.