“He has had a touch of the gout, Betty,” she whispered in her ear, “and he heard some news in town which upset him a little. You must try to cheer him up at supper, child.” “Was it bad news?” asked Betty, in alarm. “It may not be true, my dear. I hope it isn't, but, as I told Mr. Lightfoot, it is always better to believe the worst, so if any surprise comes it may be a pleasant one. Somebody told him in church--and they had much better have been attending to the service, I'm sure,--that Dan had gotten into trouble again, and Mr. Lightfoot is very angry about it. He had a talk with the boy before he went away, and made him promise to turn over a new leaf this year--but it seems this is the most serious thing that has happened yet. I must say I always told Mr. Lightfoot it was what he had to expect.” “In trouble again?” repeated Betty, kneeling by the bed. Her hands went cold, and she pressed them nervously together. “Of course we know very little about it, my dear,” pursued Mrs. Lightfoot. “All we have heard is that he fought a duel and was sent away from the University. He was even put into gaol for a night, I believe--a Lightfoot in a common dirty gaol! Well, well, as I said before, all we can do now is to expect the worst.” “Oh, is that all?” cried Betty, and the leaping of her heart told her the horror of her dim foreboding. She rose to her feet and smiled brightly down upon the astonished old lady. “I don't know what more you want,” replied Mrs. Lightfoot, tartly. “If he ever gets clean again after a whole night in a common gaol, I must say I don't see how he'll manage it. But if you aren't satisfied I can only tell you that the affair was all about some bar-room wench, and that the papers will be full of it. Not that the boy was anything but foolish,” she added hastily. “I'll do him the justice to admit that he's more of a fool than a villain--and I hardly know whether it's a compliment that I'm paying him or not. He got some quixotic notion into his head that Harry Maupin insulted the girl in his presence, and he called him to account for it. As if the honour of a barkeeper's daughter was the concern of any gentleman!” “Oh!” cried Betty, and caught her breath. The word went out of her in a sudden burst of joy, but the joy was so sharp that a moment afterwards she hid her wet face in the bedclothes and sobbed softly to herself. “I don't think Mr. Lightfoot would have taken it so hard but for Virginia,” said the old lady, with her keen eyes on the girl. “You know he has always wanted to bring Dan and Virginia together, and he seems to think that the boy has been dishonourable about it.” “But Virginia doesn't care--she doesn't care,” protested Betty.