'Yet for all that his happiness was short-lived, for after a son was born to him Mistress Heron seemed to lose heart for huntin'--her narves, she said, had gone wrong with her; but grandfather always upheld that she'd grown tired of her husband. She was a clever woman, as I said, an' ambitious; an' 'twas reported that she'd been forced to marry wi' t'owd Squire by her mother in Lunnon town--he bein' as rich as "Creases"--whilst the man she really favoured hadn't a penny beyond what his wits might bring him in. For a bit the excitement of huntin' had been enough for her, an' spendin' t' Squire's brass, t' big house, an' t' novelty; but after t' son was born she grew dissatisfied an' took a dislike to her life. Consequence was that she took up with a young man called Cunliffe, that lived over at The Tower--right away on that hillside over there, about two miles west of us--ye can see it against trees from Heronsford easy. 'The place had been bought by his father, who made money in trade at Ironopolis, an' he'd just got himself elected into Parliament, an' was like to get on at it, 'twas said, bein' one of them ready-witted, oily-tongued chaps that never go quite straight, but gallop along t' roads an' sneak through gates, an' then swagger on at t' kill. Ay, there's none "who-oops" an' "tally-hos" louder than them. 'T'owd Squire, on t'other hand, was one of t' owd-fashioned sort, and said what he meant always, an' clapped an oath on t' back of it; hated Lunnon, an' Lunnon ways, lived for huntin' an' shootin' an' country pursuits, an' drank a bottle of port wine reg'lar every evenin' to his own cheek. He wasn't over well educated neither, havin' all his life lived almost entirely at home; no scholar savin' a vast knowledge of the stud-book, farriery, an' horse-breedin', which was a sort o' larnin' that Mistress Heron didn't care a button about. Well, things went gradually askew between the two, she always wantin' fresh company in t' house, an' him hatin' society ways like poison. 'Amongst others she took up with was this young Member o' Parliament, Cunliffe, an' often he would be over an' dinin' with them; he could sing a bit, an' she was fond of t' piano, an' they would play on together in t' drawing-room while t' Squire sat over his mahog'ny passin' t' bottle round, talkin' over t' 'untin', layin' wagers with his own particular cronies of the red-faced, good-hearted, rough-tongued, fox-'untin' Yorkshire style. 'Well, t'owd Squire couldn't stomach young Cunliffe at all; for in the first place he was a poor rider to 'ounds, never jumped owt if he could help it, was a mean chap with his brass, an' had a supercilious way o' talk about him that angered t' Squire fearful. Add to this that he was always comin' over to sweetheart his missus, an' you can imagine how ill the two men would agree.