‘Oh, yes, of course. And Mr Portland,’ added Nora rather nervously, ‘we agreed just now that it was all over, so you won’t mind my saying you think I care only for Ilfracombe’s title and fortune, and I daresay you are justified in thinking so--but--but it is not only that. He--he is so good to me, that I can’t help caring--I mean, it would be very ungrateful of me not to care, just a little.’ But here the young countess’s blushing, stammering confession was interrupted by her husband’s return. ‘Oh, here _is_ Ilfracombe!’ she exclaimed, suddenly breaking off, and advancing to meet him, whilst Jack Portland thought to himself; ‘so the wind’s in that quarter now, is it? All the better for me; but I’m afraid her ladyship has sealed the fate of that interesting little packet. If love is to be brought into the bargain, those letters will become too valuable to me to part with. Why, I shall be able to turn and twist her, through their means, at my will.’ CHAPTER V. The time was altered at Panty-cuckoo Farm. Christmas had come and gone--rather a melancholy Christmas. The weather had been raw and chill; Mrs Llewellyn had been laid up with sciatica; and the farmer had appeared depressed and out of spirits. Hugh Owen had left off coming to the farm altogether, at which Nell was not surprised, though her mother grumbled, and her father said that with some people out of sight seemed out of mind. But with the advent of spring things grew better. Is it not always the way with spring? Its bright, hopeful surroundings seemed to make one ashamed of murmuring over one’s own troubles. The bursting buds; the rivulets released from the icy grip of winter; the callow birds; the balmy life-giving air; all speak of renewed action and strength, after the numbing effects of winter. One grows young again with spring. The buoyancy of the atmosphere, and all the glad sights and sounds that salute one’s eyes and ears, seem to fill one with new feelings--new ideas--new hopes. Even Nell succumbed to the delights of the season, and felt sorry to think she had driven her kindest friend from her side. She had tried several times to see Hugh Owen, and make up her quarrel with him, but he always managed to avoid meeting her. There was a baby at Dale Farm now, over which Hetty and her mother-in-law were crooning half the day, with which, of course, old Mrs Llewellyn was delighted, but which Nell never saw without a sigh. She thought that when Hugh christened her little nephew, she would at least secure a word or two with him in private, but it was not so. He never turned his eyes her way during the ceremony, and pleaded other duties as an excuse for not being present at the substantial feast which was spread for them afterwards at Dale Farm.