When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride the next day.

“No, I do not know—not if you want the mare,” was her answer.

“I do not want her at all for myself,” said he; “but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her a longer time—for a whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to get as far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling her of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal to it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. She rides only for pleasure; you for health.”

“I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,” said Fanny; “I have been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong enough now to walk very well.”

Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny’s comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning. The party included all the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed. A successful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. At some point one of them pointed out a distant lumbering figure seen moving oddly among the trees, walking stiffly like clockwork, with arms semi-raised and slightly extended forward.

“Must be some drunken lout,” said Miss Crawford with a breezy laugh, her lips very red in the sunlight, and her eyes somehow very, very dark.

“A nearby villager, no doubt. Though, it is far too early in the day to have imbibed quite that much. Look how he lumbers along, like a wooden scarecrow, an acrobat on stilts!” said Henry.

Before anything else could be speculated, soon enough the unusual figure disappeared in the distance and was forgotten.