"Good-morning, madam. Did you see any one fire just now," said the stranger, in a most musical voice, as he rode toward her.
"Yes, sir, I fired it," replied Gipsy, impudently.
"You did!" said the stranger, with a stare of surprise; "and may I ask, madam, if it was your intention to shoot me?"
"Of course it was! My aim was unfortunately taken a little too high. If you'll just stand there again, I'll try another shot," replied Gipsy gravely.
Again the stranger stared, as though doubting the sanity of his companion. There was no idiocy, however, in the bright, keen eyes, twinkling with suppressed mirth, that were now lifted to his; and, taking off his hat, the stranger pointed to the hole, saying:
"On the whole, I think I have no particular fancy for being made a target of—especially for so good a shot as you. May I ask the name of the fair amazon I have been fortunate enough to meet?"
"You must be a stranger here not to know it. I have several names; the last and least of which is—Mrs. Wiseman. And yours?"
"Louis Oranmore, very much at your service," he answered, with a courtly bow.
"Oh!" Such a stare as he got from those bright eyes—such a quick flush of delight as overspread the pretty face beneath him—such a keen scrutiny as his face underwent at that moment. He noticed it, without pretending to do so; but there was an ill-repressed smile of amusement hovering about his finely-chiseled lip. Yet it was evident he did not recognize her.
The handsome, impetuous boy had grown into a tall, elegant, princely-looking man. His complexion, darkened by foreign suns to a clear, manly olive, was shaded by a profusion of jet-black curling hair. His fine dark eyes were bright, clear, almost piercing; his upper lip was shaded by a black mustache, but it did not conceal its scornful upward curve. Pride and passion, genius and unbending will were written in every lineament of that irresistibly handsome face; yet there was at times a winning softness in it, particularly when he smiled. He still bore a strong likeness to his dead father, save that Louis was much handsomer. There was something grand and noble in his tall yet slight figure, mingled with an ease and grace of manner that bespoke his acquaintance with polished society. His voice, that could at times ring with the clarion tones of command, never addressed a woman without being modulated to the softest and most musical of sounds. Such had our old favorite Louis become—very little like the Louis we once knew, we must own—very little like the guileless, innocent Louis, this gay young man of pleasure.