Miss Crawford made her first riding attempt with great credit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down the mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when she rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward.

The second day’s trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford’s enjoyment of riding was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless, and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman. And to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise (often lowering her face to press her cheeks close to the mare, to hug the horse about the neck in unabashed excitement), something was probably added in Edmund’s attendance and instructions, and something more in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in general by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.

The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of each other. But, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could look down the park, and command a view of the Parsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road. In Dr. Grant’s meadow she immediately saw the group—Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her.

It was a sound which did not make her cheerful. Fanny wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang. She could not turn her eyes from the meadow, could not help seeing all that passed. She even noticed a somewhat odd-looking figure[8] walking, in what appeared to be large aimless circles, with a dead-stiff lumbering gait, off in the distance; probably an additional groom.