No. He had quite made up his mind to marry Lotte Clinton, whether his father consented or not; and, therefore, the sooner he knew what side his father ranged himself on--and adhered to--the better. Mr. Wilton, having just parted with Flora, was most complacent. He, too, had been indulging in imaginary conversations, and a vision, wherein his daughter, overpowered by his affectionate conduct and his honeyed words, gave, at his suggestion, with graceful sweetness, her hand and heart to the Honorable Lester Vane. As he was mentally bestowing his benediction upon the kneeling pair, his eyes fell upon his son, Mark. With a face radiant with smiles, and with a lofty air which suited the rather windy eloquence in which he indulged, he exclaimed-- “Ah! my dear boy, back from the great metropolis so soon; I am glad to see you, none the less because you are wearied of its turmoil, its driving, rushing, selfish careering, its hollowness and its heartlessness.” “Nothing of the sort, sir,” said Mark, bluntly and a little eagerly, “I had an object in coming back; certainly, not one of those sentiments you have suggested induced me to leave London, of which, if I must speak the truth, I am infinitely more fond than of the country. But I see you are going out--anywhere particular?” “No, Mark,” returned Wilton, with a mild, patronising manner, “merely for a stroll and the air. I have not stirred abroad for some days, and pedestrian exercise is necessary for health.” “Very true, sir; I will accompany you if you will allow me; we can talk in the broad, free, fresh air as well as beneath the carved roof of your library!” said Mark, with some little force in his tone, as though urging a point. “With all my heart,” said Mr. Wilton. So together they left Harley dale Hall, and pursued their way to the woods, where Mr. Chewkle lay hidden. As they sauntered slowly across the park, the old man replied to some questions respecting Flora which Mark put to him in so cheery a strain that the latter augured favourably of his cause. Because he perceived that a reconciliation had ensued between his sister and his father, and as he had the strongest faith in Flora’s adhesion to the choice of her heart, he concluded his father had made the necessary concession, and that his own path to Lotte’s hand was half-freed from the impediments he had conjectured he would place in it. He at once cast about for an opening to broach the delicate subject; but his father saved him the trouble by plumply introducing it. Mr. Wilton felt slightly hilarious; brightened hopes of his daughter’s marriage, assisted by the healthful fresh air playing round his brow, disposed him to be sprightly. How perfectly unconscious he was of the bombardment he was about to receive, or of the animation with which he should return the fire!