The Story of Kennett | Page 7

Ferris, with some dozen others, either anxious to spare their horses
or too timid to take the hedges in the valley, had kept the cross-road to
New-Garden, whence a lane along the top of the southern hill led them
into the Avondale Woods. They soon emerged, shouting and yelling,
upon the meadow.
The chase was up; and Gilbert Potter, on his "plough horse," was the
only huntsman in at the death.

CHAPTER II.
WHO SHALL HAVE THE BRUSH?
Mr. Barton and Fortune, who seemed to have become wonderfully
intimate during the half hour in which they had ridden together, arrived
at the same time. The hunters, of whom a dozen were now assembled
(some five or six inferior horses being still a mile in the rear), were all
astounded, and some of them highly vexed, at the result of the chase.

Gilbert's friends crowded about him, asking questions as to the course
he had taken, and examining the horse, which had maliciously resumed
its sleepy look, and stood with drooping head. The others had not
sufficient tact to disguise their ill-humor, for they belonged to that class
which, in all countries, possesses the least refinement--the uncultivated
rich.
"The hunt started well, but it's a poor finish," said one of these.
"Never mind!" Mr. Ferris remarked; "such things come by chance."
These words struck the company to silence. A shock, felt rather than
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 stole away from the noisy company, mounted his horse, and
rode slowly towards Kennett Square.
As he thus rides, with his eyes abstractedly fixed before him, we will
take the opportunity to observe him more closely. Slightly under-sized,
compactly built, and with strongly-marked features, his twenty-four
years have the effect of thirty. His short jacket and knee-breeches of
gray velveteen cover a chest broad rather than deep, and reveal the fine,
narrow loins and muscular thighs of a frame matured and hardened by
labor. His hands, also, are hard and strong, but not ungraceful in form.
His neck, not too short, is firmly planted, and the carriage of his head
indicates patience and energy. Thick, dark hair enframes his square
forehead, and straight, somewhat heavy brows. His eyes of soft
dark-gray, are large, clear, and steady, and only change their expression
under strong excitement. His nose is straight and short, his mouth a
little too wide for beauty, and less firm now than it will be ten years
hence, when the yearning tenderness shall have vanished from the
corners of the lips; and the chin, in its broad curve, harmonizes with the
square lines of the brow. Evidently a man whose youth has not been a
holiday; who is reticent rather than demonstrative; who will be strong
in his loves and long in his hates; and, without being of a despondent
nature, can never become heartily sanguine.
The spring-day was raw and overcast, as it drew towards its close, and
the rider's musings seemed to accord with the change in the sky. His
face expressed a singular mixture of impatience, determined will,