On the day following, Sir Harry Willerton's guests returned to town, but, to their surprise, unaccompanied by their host, who seemed to have suddenly discovered that his presence was needed on his estate. So he remained. Soon it was remarked that a singular intimacy had sprung up between him and Squire Burleigh, with whom, at length, the larger portion of his time was passed, either in following the hounds or dining at the Grange. There were rumors and surmises that the attractions which drew the young baronet to his bluff neighbor's hospitable hall were not the Squire's hearty cheer, old wine, and older stories, but a pair of shy, yet tender eyes,--red lips, that smiled a wordless welcome, and sometimes pouted at a late coming,--cheeks whose blushes daily grew warmer in love's ripening glow,--a voice whose tones daily grew deeper, and seemed freighted with more delicious meanings. There was little discussion as to which of the young ladies of the Grange was the enchantress and the elect Lady Willerton. "Surely," said the gossips, "it cannot be that gypsy niece of the Squire, that odd, black-browed girl, who scours over the country in all weathers, on that elfish black pony, with her hair flying,--for all the world as though in search of her wild relations. No, the blood of the Willertons would never run so low as that;--it must be sweet Miss Bessie, and she is a match for a lord." For once the gossips were right. But it is with the poor "Rommany girl," not with the heiress of Burleigh Grange, that we have to do.