"No, no, Dickie, never you meddle with nobody's dear," said the old woman; "though Bill there, at the other fire," she added, dropping her voice a little, and grinning significantly--"though Bill there, at the other fire, seems to have a great fancy for Pharold's own dear." A low laugh, whose suppressed tone argued that every one felt themselves on dangerous ground, followed her jest, and she went on: "But, howsomdever, Dick, never you meddle with nobody's deer, when you are bid not--till the person that bade you is out of the way--do you see? eh, Dicky, my boy?" "Ay, that's something like now, Mother Gray," replied Dickon. "Do you see, to-morrow, it seems, we must troop, half one way and half t'other; and then, if I be not sent to a distance, and can get some good fellows to help me, I'll bet a bob that I bring home two or three as fat bucks as ever laid their haunches on the king's table--and that's a better night's work than ever Pharold will do." "Well, well, Dickon, you shall do it," replied the old dame: "you wait quiet till to-morrow, and seem to think no more about it; and I will get Lena to wheedle Pharold out of the way, if some of his own strange jobs do not take him without; and you shall have free scope and fair play for a night, my boy, anyhow--so the keepers may count their deer the next morning, if they can." "But suppose I am sent away," said the young man; "I would rather have gone to-night by half." "But you know you can't, Dickon," she replied; "and it would only make a row to speak about it. We only go ten miles, any of us; and I will take care of your ten miles, my chick. So keep snug; and, do you see, there's no use of bringing up the deer to where we pitch. The shiners are what we want; and Harry Saxon, who bags the pheasants and hares, and who first gave me an inkling about the venison, will take the beasts of us for so much a head, and send them up to the lord-mayor in London. So to-morrow I'll be off early, and get the job arranged proper, and have a cart and horse ready, do you see, Dickon." Dickon rubbed his hands with much glee; and as it would seem that some people are born to deer-stealing, he felt that satisfaction which all men must feel when a prospect opens before them of their talents at length having a free course. At that moment, however, two shots were heard at no very great distance, but in the direction of the little wooded promontory near Morley House, and the sound called forth some symptoms of emotion in more than one of the party. Pharold listened, drew in his eyes, and knit his brows hard, while Dickon vowed, with an oath, "That fellow Hallet has gone down into Mrs. Falkland's preserves, and will blow us all with his cursed gun. He might have waited an hour or two."