At these words a long, cheerful "_hallo!_"--the Squire's own call in the hunting-field--was heard; and Kate, crying, "I told you so!" ran rapidly into the garden. The Squire was just entering the gates at a gallop. He drew rein, threw himself off his horse, and took his daughter in his arms. "I am so glad, Father!" she cried. "So happy, Father! I knew you were coming! I knew you were coming! I did that!" "Nay, not thou! I told nobody." "Your heart told my heart. Ask mother. Here she comes." Then, late as it was, the quiet house suddenly became full of noise and bustle; and the hubbub that usually followed the Squire's advent was everywhere apparent. For he wanted all at once,--his meat and his drink, his easy coat and his slippers, his pipe and his dogs, and his serving men and women. He wanted to hear about the ploughing, and the sowing, and the gardening; about the horses, and the cattle, and the markets; the farm hands, and the tenants of the Atheling cottages. He wanted his wife's report, and his steward's report, and his daughter's petting and opinions. The night wore on to midnight before he would speak of London, or the House, or the Bill. "I may surely have a little bit of peace, Maude," he said reproachfully, when she ventured to introduce the subject; "it has been the Bill, and the Bill, and the Bill, till my ears ache with the sound of the words." "Just tell us if it has passed, John." "No, it has _not_ passed; and Parliament is dissolved again; and the country has taken the bit in its teeth, and the very mischief of hell is let loose. I told the Duke what his 'obstructing' ways would do. Englishmen like obstructions. They would put them there, if they were absent, for the very pleasure of getting over them. Many a man that was against the Bill is now against the 'obstructions' and bound to get over them." "Did Piers come down with you, Father?" asked Kate. She had waited long and patiently, and the Squire had not named him; and she felt a little wounded by the neglect. "No. He did not come down with me, Kitty. But I dare say he is at the Castle. The Duke spoke of returning to Yorkshire at once." "He might have come with you, I think." "I think not. A man's father and mother cannot always be put aside for his sweetheart. Lovers think they can run the world to their own whim-whams. 'Twould be a God's pity if they could!" "What are you cross about, Father? Has Piers vexed you?" "Am I cross, Kitty? I did not know it. Go to bed, child. England stands where she did, and Piers is yet Lord of Exham Hall. I dare say he will be here to-morrow. I came at my own pace. He would have to keep the pace of two fine ladies. And I'll be bound he fretted like a race-horse yoked in a plough."