And then they went on together, once more very sedately, as if they had been a sober, middle-aged couple, the corn rustling and nodding towards them, the soft wind sweeping over it, bowing its yellow plumes in soft successions of movement, the whole air full of a happy rustle and sweep of sound, the sound of the atmosphere, the subdued hum of summer happiness common to all the world. He made up his mind that the landscape, all full of young trees and northern colours, and the moment, in which there was no positive bliss indeed, but only a dreary, dusty lodging, and the prospect of being cared for by a ploughman’s wife--were perfect, and that life could not hold anything sweeter. Lydia went on talking of the chance that perhaps Mr. Pilgrim, the executor, would “do something” when he heard of a tenant, until it gradually began to appear to the young man as if she were talking of improving heaven. What could be equal in all the world to a place which was within reach of the White House? “But if your brother were to come home suddenly,” he said, “what would become of me? Should I be turned out?” “Harry!” cried Lydia, with glistening eyes; and then she said, turning to him (he was behind her for the moment, the path was so narrow), “Harry! Oh, how kind you are! To speak like that is to give one courage; for you really, really think, Mr. Brotherton, don’t you, now you have heard all about him, that he must come home?” CHAPTER V. THE DUCHESS. When it was known that the old house at Birrenshead had been taken by a gentleman for shooting quarters, the astonishment of the neighbourhood was great. The house was known to be in a most dilapidated condition, and the rooms had not been occupied in the memory of man. The village took the most anxious interest in the rash gentleman, and inquired, with much solicitude, “what motive” he could have for burying himself in such a place? Was it for the sake of Lydia Joscelyn? But then he had been much nearer Lydia Joscelyn at the White House, where the family no doubt would gladly have kept him had he wished it; or was it on the other hand to get away from Lydia, who had been devoting herself too unreasonably to him? Both these opinions had their supporters; but as it was impossible to prove either, the question remained a burning question for half of the time that young Brotherton lived at Birrenshead, where he soon became well-known. He was quite a gentleman, there could be no doubt of that. He had a couple of horses and a man, and money did not seem to be wanting with him. The neighbours soon found out all that was to be found, which was not saying much--that he was Sir John Brotherton’s son, and a great friend of Lord Eldred, the second son at the Castle; and that he was actually, on his own showing, second cousin to Mrs. Joscelyn. Had she said it the neighbourhood might have doubted; but he said it himself; and he was constantly at the White House.