It was now after ten o’clock, and, although they had ridden a good fifteen miles, much of it had been in a circle, and they were not more than five miles from Bendover. Sally Carteret led the procession back to Bendover, along the country roads, in the clear wintry noon. The farmers and their wives came running out to their gates to know if the fox was killed, and rejoiced to know that he was dead on the very scene of his iniquities.

The sharp air and the exciting exercise had fired the blood of all. They laughed and sang, and the gentlemen complimented the ladies upon their pluck, and got compliments in return. Fortescue thought that the clock of the centuries had turned back—it was so quaint, so old-fashioned. The modern, eager, bustling, anxious world was forgotten; it was like the hunting and hawking of the eighteenth century.

The cavalcade rode onto the lawn at Bendover soon after twelve o’clock. Other guests had arrived by that time, and then was served the real hunt breakfast. The hunting people had the keen appetites that are bred by five hours in the saddle on a wintry day, and swarmed merrily into the dining-room, where the long table was again set out with the inevitable deviled turkey, oysters, old hams, and all the seductions of a Virginia hunt breakfast. When at last breakfast was over, the brush, which had been cleaned and rudely mounted in a wooden splint, was brought in, and Fortescue, with a little speech presented it to Betty. Then, somebody began the old hunting song of “John Peel,” which accompanies the ceremony of presenting the brush, and a rousing chorus rang out—it is easy to start a rousing chorus at Christmas time in Virginia, especially when the memory of John Peel is recalled at a Christmas hunt.

Sally Carteret went to the piano in the drawing-room and began to play a waltz. That was enough. In half a minute every girl in the party was waltzing with her cavalier, in the big uncarpeted hall. The girls who had ridden to the hounds tucked up their short riding-skirts and danced energetically, for a Virginia girl is born and lives dancing. Of course, Fortescue had the first waltz with Betty, and saw in her eyes a shy kindness that thrilled him. When Sally Carteret had done her duty at the piano, another girl took her place conscientiously, and gave Sally her chance with the gentlemen, especially Sheldon, one of the young officers who were guests at Rosehill, and who had developed an admiration for Sally scarcely inferior to Fortescue’s for Betty Beverley.

The dancing kept up for an hour or two, but as there was a ball ahead for that night, and for every night that week, the party dispersed by three o’clock. Some went home, others were quartered in the neighborhood, for the Virginia houses were always wide open to guests for the night as well as for the day.

Betty, with the fox-brush fastened to her pommel, rode back in triumph to Holly Lodge, escorted by Fortescue and his three guests. The Colonel hobbled out with his stick to greet Betty, and afar off down the little lane Betty saw him, and waved the brush at him triumphantly. When the party rode up to the little porch, Fortescue flung himself off his horse and assisted Betty.

“See, Granddaddy!” cried Betty, running up the steps and shaking the brush at the Colonel. “Mr. Fortescue won it and gave it to me.”

“Most complimentary of Mr. Fortescue,” said the Colonel, giving a splendid military salute to Fortescue.

The Colonel was glad that his little granddaughter had received the compliment, because, being more worldly wise than Betty, he understood what the fall meant from Rosehill to Holly Lodge. But the kind and hospitable county people saw no difference, and Betty Beverley of Holly Lodge received the same attentions as Betty Beverley of Rosehill.

The Colonel invited the young officers in to have a toddy, to which they promptly agreed, eating and drinking and dancing being obligations of a high order in that community. The Colonel, standing grandly, glass in hand, gave his favorite toast:

“Gentlemen, accept the assurances of my distinguished consideration.”

Then, with many promises to meet again that evening, and engagements for dances, Fortescue and his friends mounted and rode away, and Betty, after telling the Colonel the incidents of the hunt, went up to her little room to catch a few hours of sleep; for sleep had to be caught at odd times during Christmas week.

Again that night and every night was a dance, each a repetition of the other, for there was not much room for variety, and the same resources were at the command of all. Fortescue, imbibing the hearty spirit of the community, longed, as he had said at Holly Lodge, to have a ball at Rosehill, but a certain delicacy and tenderness toward Betty and the Colonel hindered him. He did not like to assume too quickly the rÔle of the master of Rosehill, and, then, a dream was dawning upon him of a ball at Rosehill, where Betty should be the chatelaine and receive with him. They made great strides toward intimacy, and once in the maze of the last waltz before daybreak Fortescue chose to forget the “Miss” to Betty’s name and in her ear called her “Betty.” Betty pretended not to hear it, but it thrilled her from head to foot.

Fortescue was no laggard in love, but he had the chivalrous, old-fashioned notion that a girl was to be courted, and that he had to show his devotion in other ways than by many dances with Betty and visits to Holly Lodge before he could dare to ask Betty for the royal treasure of her love. Perhaps, he thought, in six months, by showing her unvarying attention and remembrance, he might dare to speak the winged word, and possibly Betty might then condescend to listen to him. For Fortescue, in a simple, manly way, was as unsophisticated as Betty. Moreover, he had a deadly fear of the Colonel, and considered that he had entered upon a regular campaign, instead of merely attempting a sortie upon the enemy.

On the afternoon before Fortescue’s leave was up, he proposed a skating party upon the frozen river. There were few skaters among the girls, for the river and ice-ponds were not frozen often enough to incline them to the sport. Betty, however, could skate prettily, especially with Fortescue’s arm to support her. They were in full sight of the windows of Holly Lodge, the Colonel, who knew the ice in that latitude was treacherous, keeping his eye upon the figures darting back and forth upon the river. Betty, in a little red hood, was bewitching. Sally Carteret was the only other girl skater, and they had so many cavaliers that it was difficult to have a private word with any.

Late in the afternoon, Fortescue and his friends had to take the steamboat which had so frightened Kettle, on the greater river, where the channel was kept open. The parting with Betty was supposed to occur on the river-bank, when Betty took the path to the little brown house, and Fortescue went to Rosehill to start for the landing. Fortescue had time, however, to escort Betty to the edge of the little lawn at Holly Lodge. They talked of the merry, idle, pleasant nothings which make up the staple of youth, until they reached the edge of the lawn. The Colonel, narrowly watching his one ewe lamb, saw only Fortescue’s low bow, his hat in his hand, and knew nothing of the look in his eyes, and the tender pressure of Betty’s hand, and his brief, significant words.

“I wouldn’t go,” he said, “if my leave were not up; but I am a soldier, and a soldier must obey orders. Promise that you won’t forget me.”

It was just at the hour that one week before Betty had landed from the table in Fortescue’s arms, but in that time a new heaven and a new earth had revealed themselves to both of them. Betty was a constitutional and incurable coquette, but deep in her heart she was the soul of sincerity.

“I won’t forget you,” she said softly, and Fortescue, turning and walking rapidly back to Rosehill, felt a profound satisfaction, a delicious confidence, that was in itself happiness. How faithful was Betty to the gallant old Colonel! This reflection brought some perplexities into Fortescue’s mind, but he dismissed them, as sturdy young soldiers of twenty-five can throw out of doors unwelcome guests in the guise of unwelcome thoughts.