great distance behind me; but I never conjectured who the rider might be—or troubled my head about him, till on slackening my pace to ascend a gentle acclivity—or rather suffering my horse to slacken its pace into a lazy walk; for, lost in my own reflexions, I was letting it jog on as leisurely as it thought proper—I lost ground, and my fellow traveller overtook me. He accosted me by name; for it was no stranger—it was Mr. Lawrence! Instinctively the fingers of my whip-hand tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy; but I restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a nod, attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me and began to talk about the weather and the crops, I gave the briefest possible answers to his queries and observations, and fell back. He fell back too, and asked if my horse was lame. I replied, with a look—at which he placidly smiled.
I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular pertinacity and imperturbable as-
