Richard Tallant spoke truly when he was joking Mr. Shuffleton Gibbs about Somerton’s beautiful daughter. It would have been as much as any man’s life were worth to have insulted Amy Somerton in the knowledge of her father. “I tell you, Luke Somerton,” said Mrs. S., when Luke entered the house, “that Mr. Hammerton is bent upon no good with regard to Amy.” “Stuff and nonsense!” said Luke, laying down his rabbits, and putting his gun into a case by the fireplace. “When you see a fox about the fold-yard, what do you think he is seeking?” asked Mrs. Somerton, sneeringly. “Foxes be hanged!” said Luke. “And fools be hanged!” said Mrs. Somerton, banging the door, and leaving her liege lord to his own thoughts. “By all means,” said Luke, still thinking of the handsome women whom he had seen in the lane. “And that painter fellow,” said Mrs. Somerton, returning; “he’s in the woods yonder. Old Tallant must have lost the small portion of brains that God gave him to begin with, if he can’t see that his daughter is befooling him.” “Why, Sarah, you are mad on this point. These girls seem to worry your life out.” “Mad? You may trust a mother’s eyes, Luke Somerton, to see what’s going on. I tell you, that ugly little blackamoor painter fellow is making love to Miss Tallant, and that the future Lord Verner is sneaking about after our Amy.” “The future Lord Verner after Amy!--stuff! you’re dreaming, wife,” said Luke. “Some people’s dreams are as good as the waking thoughts of other people,” Mrs. Somerton replied. “Well, we shall see--we shall see,” said Luke, carelessly. “Yes, when it’s too late,” Mrs. Somerton rejoined, with an emphatic nod of her head. And so the subject dropped. Meanwhile Phœbe and Amy were enjoying the spring sunshine at the top of Berne Hills. The glorious beams shot down upon the landscape from behind little scudding clouds, and made the beech-trees shine like silver. The river that wound its way from east to west shone out here and there in great white patches. Hundreds of shifting shadows fell upon hill and dale; lulling sounds came up the hills from the villages round about; the birds sung as they only sing in Avonworth Valley; and everything breathed of peace, content, and happiness. “And so you think Mr. Hammerton is getting into bad company, Amy?” said Miss Tallant, when the two fair girls had sat down to rest in the summer-house. “He is, indeed,” said Amy, seriously. “Gambling?” “Yes; to a dreadful extent, Paul says.” “May I see the letter, dear?” Miss Tallant asked, laying her hand affectionately on Amy’s shoulder. “I tell you candidly, Phœbe dear, I do not like to let you see what Paul says about your brother.” “Don’t mind that. I have long since believed my brother to be much less noble in his conduct than could be desired,” said Phœbe. “Have you ever heard of his friend, Mr. Gibbs?” “No, dear. Who is he?” “Oh, a dreadful man, I believe; unfit altogether for the society of your brother.”