The thing implied by the farmer's words caused Richard to take a quick breath. They looked at each other, and looked away, the farmer thrumming on the arm of his chair. Above the mantel-piece, surrounded by tarnished indifferent miniatures of high-collared, well-to-do yeomen of the anterior generation, trying their best not to grin, and high-waisted old ladies smiling an encouraging smile through plentiful cap-puckers, there hung a passably executed half-figure of a naval officer in uniform, grasping a telescope under his left arm, who stood forth clearly as not of their kith and kin. His eyes were blue, his hair light, his bearing that of a man who knows how to carry his head and shoulders. The artist, while giving him an epaulette to indicate his rank, had also recorded the juvenility which a lieutenant in the naval service can retain after arriving at that position, by painting him with smooth cheeks and fresh ruddy lips. To this portrait Richard's eyes were directed. Farmer Blaize observed it, and said-- "Her father, sir!" Richard moderated his voice to praise the likeness. "Yes," said the farmer, "pretty well. Next best to havin' _her_, though it's a long way off that!" "An old family, Mr. Blaize--is it not?" Richard asked in as careless a tone as he could assume. "Gentlefolks--what's left of 'em," replied the farmer with an equally affected indifference. "And that's her father?" said Richard, growing bolder to speak of her. "That's her father, young gentleman!" "Mr. Blaize," Richard turned to face him, and burst out, "where is she?" "Gone, sir! packed off!--Can't have her here now." The farmer thrummed a step brisker, and eyed the young man's wild face resolutely. "Mr. Blaize," Richard leaned forward to get closer to him. He was stunned, and hardly aware of what he was saying or doing: "Where has she gone? Why did she leave?" "You needn't to ask, sir--ye know," said the farmer, with a side shot of his head. "But _she_ did not--it was not her wish to go?" "No! I think she likes the place. Mayhap she likes't too well!" "Why did you send her away to make her unhappy, Mr. Blaize?" The farmer bluntly denied it was he was the party who made her unhappy. "Nobody can't accuse _me_. Tell ye what, sir. I wunt have the busybodies set to work about her, and there's all the matter. So let you and I come to an understandin'." A blind inclination to take offence made Richard sit upright. He forgot it the next minute, and said humbly: "Am I the cause of her going?" "Well!" returned the farmer, "to speak straight--ye be!" "What can I do, Mr. Blaize, that she may come back again?" the young hypocrite asked.