Arthur bit his lip to keep down the retort that had risen to his tongue. He was not so well disposed as he had a year before shown himself to be to bear in a patient spirit the being snubbed and tyrannised over. A lengthened absence, together with the flattering attention everywhere shown to the heir-apparent of Gillingham--to say nothing of the matrimonial engagement which made him feel so like a man--were all in their different degrees responsible for the symptoms of rebellion that were rife within him. Lady Millicent looked, too, according to Arthur’s fancy, especially provoking on that bright spring morning. The almost shabby “slight” mourning in which--for economy’s sake, as the world supposed--it was the wealthy-widow’s pleasure to deck herself, looked terribly out of keeping with the sunshine of the “glad new year,” and with the bright fresh flowers (a cheap luxury) never absent from the breakfast-table at Gillingham Castle, and which, on that especial morning, were redolent of votive offerings to the first of May. It was sad to think that at that breakfast of herbs (Lady Millicent did not approve of stalled-ox-feeding so early in the day), and so soon after the return of the first-born son, that son should be constrained to strive--but happily not in vain--to keep his temper. The hour of eleven had struck by the clock of the Switcham parish church when, punctual to the moment, there was seen driving up the gentle ascent leading to the picturesque old gothic building, Lady Millicent’s open carriage, drawn by the powerful high-stepping pair of brown horses, half-brothers, bred by John’s father, and sold by him ten years before for a “long figure,” for the use of the Lady Millicent Vavasour. John Beacham took an honest pride--aged animals though they were--in those horses; and when from the elevated spot in the churchyard on which he was standing he caught sight of their grand “tops,” and heard the rapid footfall of the powerful thorough-breds on the gravelled road beneath, the memory of his dead father rose up strong within him, and John, ere he stepped forward hat in hand to welcome the liege lady of Gillingham, passed his honest hand over his eyes, to brush away the moisture that had gathered on their lids.