"Ah! you don't know—How uncommon infernal unfortunate to happen just at the moment when"—— Titmouse became silent; for all of a sudden he recollected when and where, and under what circumstances he had seen Miss Aubrey before, and which his vanity would not allow of his telling Snap. The fact was, that she had once accompanied her sister-in-law to Messrs. Tag-rag and Company's, to purchase some small matter of mercery. Titmouse had served them; and his absurdity of manner and personal appearance had provoked a smile, which Titmouse a little misconstrued; for when, a Sunday or two afterwards, he met her in the Park, the little fool actually had the presumption to nod to her—she having not the slightest notion who the little wretch might be—and of course not having, on the present occasion, the least recollection of him. The reader will recollect that this incident made a deep impression on the mind of Mr. Titmouse.
The coincidence was really not a little singular—but to return to Mr. Aubrey and his sister. After riding a mile or two farther up the road, they leaped over a very low mound or fence, which formed the extreme boundary of that part of the estate, and having passed through a couple of fields, they entered the eastern extremity of that fine avenue of elms, at the higher end of which stood Kate's favorite tree, and also Waters and his under-bailiff—who looked to her like a couple of executioners, only awaiting the fiat of her brother. The sun shone brightly upon the doomed sycamore—"the axe was laid at its root." As they rode up the avenue, Kate begged very hard for mercy; but for once her brother seemed obdurate—the tree, he said, must come down—'t was all nonsense to think of leaving it standing any longer!—
"Remember, Charles," said she, passionately, as they drew up, "how we've all of us romped and sported under it! Poor papa also"——
"See, Kate, how rotten it is," said her brother; and riding close to it, with his whip he snapped off two or three of its feeble silvery-gray branches—"it's high time for it to come down."
"It fills the grass all round with little branches, sir, whenever there's the least breath of wind," said Waters.
"It won't hardly hold a crow's weight on the topmost branches, sir," added Dickons, the under-bailiff, very modestly.
"Had it any leaves last summer?" inquired Mr. Aubrey.
"I don't think, sir," replied Waters, "it had a hundred all over it!"
"Really, Kate," said her brother, "'t is such a melancholy, unsightly object, when seen from any part of the Hall"—turning round on his horse to look at the rear of the Hall, which was at about two hundred yards' distance. "It looks such an old withered thing among the fresh green trees around it—'t is quite a painful contrast." Kate had gently urged on her horse while her brother was speaking, till she was close beside him. "Charles," said she, in a low whisper, "does not it remind you a little of poor old mamma, with her gray hairs, among her children and grandchildren? She is not out of place among us—is she?" Her eyes filled with tears. So did her brother's.
"Dearest Kate," said he, with emotion, affectionately grasping her little hand, "you have triumphed! The old tree shall never be cut down in my time! Waters, let the tree stand; and if anything is to be done to it—let the greatest possible care be taken of it." Miss Aubrey turned her head aside to conceal her emotion. Had they been alone, she would have flung her arms round her brother's neck.