"I'm not very well used to riding," I answered.

"You'll not be long so, then, for I love it, and you must always accompany me."

We did not, however, go out riding that day. The sky had become overcast by heavy black clouds, and before we were ready the rain was descending in torrents, and continued so to do till towards evening. So I devoted the day to unpacking and arranging my things, assisted-or rather hindered-by Catherine, who chattered incessantly, and commented on every article separately. We were interrupted by Mrs. Baker, who came in to say that Mr. Nugent was downstairs. Catherine started up from the floor, where she had been seated before a trunk, deep in the delights of rummaging, and every now and then holding up a ribbon or a brooch

VOL. I.

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66

VERNEY COURT: AN IRISH NOVEL.

to admire it extravagantly, or condemn it as extravagantly.

66

"Oh, I must change my dress," she cried, "I got this one all torn in the morning," spreading out a great rent. "I'll leave it for you to mend to-night, Mrs. Baker."

The housekeeper went away, shaking her head at the torn dress, and Catherine flew off to her own room. She returned for me after a few minutes, and we went down together.

CHAPTER V.

CECIL NUGENT.

ON entering the room I saw, standing near the fire, leaning one arm carelessly on the mantel-piece, a gentleman, apparently about twenty-eight or thirty, tall and erect in figure, presenting a striking contrast to the bent form of Mr. Verney, who stood beside him. The face was one that you felt instinctively you might trust; and with his thick, chestnut-brown hair, magnificent beard, and hazel eyes, Mr. Nugent might fairly be considered a handsome man.

It has always been a habit with me to form my judgment of people's characters from first impressions. This is generally considered an unjust and incorrect mode, yet I have seldom found occasion to alter, very materially, the opinion formed at first sight. On the contrary, I have often found the impressions received at the first meeting to have been more correct than those of a later date. The impression I received of Cecil Nugent was, that he was a good man, possessed of some of the finest qualities, perfect honour, unflinching courage, both moral and physical, tenderness, delicacy, refinement. In his manner to women there was a peculiar deference-a deference which, I felt sure, would be extended to all women, young and old, rich and poor alike. Yet, for all that, Cecil Nugent was not faultless, who is? The fault of Cecil Nugent was evidently

pride. I saw it in the curve of the delicately chiselled lips, in the full hazel eyes, in the manner in which the finely formed head was set upon the shoulders, in the erect, stately carriage, in every motion, in every tone, in every opinion expressed. If any stranger had been asked what struck him as the chief characteristic of Cecil Nugent, he would have unhesitatingly answered pride. Yet it is possible that Mr. Nugent himself was not conscious of this. Had you told him that he was proud, he would, most likely, have disputed the fact. The pride of Cecil Nugent, was, however, of a very different nature from the poor, paltry, self-seeking arrogance, so often confounded with true pride, a fault certainly, when carried to excess, yet a noble fault.

Having introduced me to Mr. Nugent, Catherine retired to the window recess, where,