Miss Huntingdon ventured no reply; she felt that it would be wiser to let the first violence of the storm blow by. But now Amos rose, and approached his father, and confronted him, looking at him calmly and steadily. Never before had that shy, reserved young man been seen to look his father so unflinchingly in the face. Never, when his own personal character or comfort had been at stake, had he dreamt of so much as a remonstrance. He had left it to others to speak for him, or had submitted to wrong or neglect without murmuring. How different was it now! How strange was the contrast between the wild flashing eyes of the old man, and the deeply tranquil, thoughtful, and even spiritual gaze of the son! Before that gaze the squire's eyes lost their fire, his chest ceased to heave, he grew calm. "What's the meaning of this?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "Father," said Amos slowly, "I am persuaded that you are not doing full justice to dear Walter. I must say a word for him. I do not think his going and riding in the steeplechase was an act of direct disobedience. I think your leave was implied when you said that at any rate he must not look to you for a horse. I know that you would have preferred his not going, and so must he have known, but I do not think that he was wrong in supposing that you had not absolutely forbidden him." "Indeed!" said Mr Huntingdon dryly and sarcastically, after a pause of astonishment; "and may I ask where the three hundred guineas are to come from? for I suppose the borrowed horse will have to be paid for." "Father," said Walter humbly, and with tears in his eyes and a tremor in his voice, "I know the horse must be paid for, because it was not Saunders's own; he borrowed it for me, and I know that he cannot afford the money. But it's an exaggeration that three hundred guineas; the horse was really worth about a hundred pounds." "It makes no matter," replied his father, but now with less of irritation in his voice, "whether it was worth three hundred guineas or one hundred pounds. I want to know who is going to pay for it, for certainly _I_ am not." "You must stop it out of my allowance," said Walter sorrowfully. "And how many years will it take to pay off the debt, then, I should like to know?" asked his father bitterly. Again there was a few moments' silence. But now Amos stepped forward once more, and said quietly, "Father, I will take the debt upon myself." "_You_, Amos!" exclaimed all his three hearers, but in very different tones. Poor Walter fairly broke down, sobbing like a child, and then threw himself into his brother's arms and kissed him warmly. Mr Huntingdon was taken quite aback, and tried in vain to hide his emotion. Miss Huntingdon wept bright tears of gladness, for she saw that Amos was making progress with his father, and getting nearer to his heart.