Colonel Compton and family, traveling at leisure in their private carriage, reached the Blue Ridge on the fifth, and Winchester on the seventh day of their journey, and went immediately to the fine old family mansion on the suburbs of the old town, which was comfortably prepared for the occupancy of the proprietor.
Miss De Lancie’s elegant house on Loudoun street, under the charge of an exemplary matron, was also ready for the reception of its mistress; but Marguerite yielded to the solicitations of her friend Cornelia, and remained her guest for the present.
Compton Lodge was somewhat older than the town; it was a substantial building of gray sandstone, situated in a fine park, shaded with great forest trees, and inclosed by a stone wall; it had once been a famous hunting seat, where Lord Fairfax, General Morgan, Major Helphinstine and other votaries of St. Hubert, “most did congregate;” and even now it was rather noted for its superior breed of hounds and horses; and for the great foxhunts that were there got up.
Marguerite De Lancie liked the old place upon all these accounts, and sometimes, when the hunting company was very select, she did not hesitate to join their sylvan sports; and scarcely a hunter there, even old Lord Fairfax himself, who still, in his age, pursued with every youthful enthusiasm the pleasures of the chase—acquitted himself better than did this Diana.
But now, in March, the hunting season was over, and if Marguerite De Lancie preferred Compton Lodge to her own house, it was because, after a long winter in Philadelphia—with the monotony of straight streets and red brick walls, and the weariness of crowded rooms—the umbrageous shade of forest trees, the silence and the solitude of nature, with the company of her sole bosom friend, was most welcome.
The second morning after their settlement at home, Colonel Compton’s family were seated around the breakfast table, discussing their coffee, buckwheat cakes and broiled venison.
Marguerite’s attention was divided between the conversation at the table, and the view from the two open windows before her, where rolling waves of green hills, dappled over with the white and pink blossoms of peach and cherry trees, now in full bloom, wooed and refreshed the eye.
Colonel Compton was sipping his coffee and looking over the Winchester Republican, when suddenly he set down his cup and broke into a loud laugh.
All looked up.
“Well, what is the matter?” inquired the comfortable, motherly Mrs. Compton, without ceasing to butter her buckwheat.