And Spring in that Berne Hill country! Alike in every other season you saw all the special beauties of the time in the neighbourhood of Barton Hall. Standing near the summer-house (where Richard Tallant played the eaves-dropper to that _naïve_ conversation, of which he reminded his sister so recently), Arthur and Phœbe may well feel that their lines have been cast in pleasant places; that Heaven is dealing tenderly with them; that the future will be a blessed time like this. The sky above them is full of blue and white,--great silver mountains piled upon each other in an azure sea. A lark is mounting upwards, with a cheery song that is answered by a thousand wood-notes in the grove beneath. Far away on every side stretch the green fields dotted with homesteads and villages, past which winds the river sparkling in the sun. Old church towers and steeples peep over the tree-tops in quiet glades, and white wreaths of smoke in the distance mark the course of railway trains hurrying on their way to London. A misty cloud, half-penetrated by the sun, hangs over the Linktown Hills, and envelopes the sharp outlines that come out here and there in undulating curves, picturesque indications of their graceful lines of beauty. How eloquently Arthur dwelt upon the glories of this great picture of Nature’s own painting! The trees were clothed with delicate verdant tints, through which the graceful shapes of the budding branches were seen, and the white birch did indeed stand out like the fair lady of the woods, nodding her pretty head and shaking her tresses to the music of the birds. Phœbe hushed Arthur’s voice at the piping of a nightingale in a copse hard by, and the artist recalled old Izaak Walton’s exclamation, “Lord, what music hast Thou provided for the saints in heaven, when Thou affordest bad men such music on earth!” Whether it was the associations of the place with former times or the words “bad men” that set Phœbe thinking of the time when the wickedness of Richard Tallant was first strongly put before her, listeth not; but she began to talk of Amy and of Lionel Hammerton. “Do you think Mr. Hammerton was really fond of Amy?” she asked. “I do, indeed,” said Arthur. “Were they engaged to be married?” “Oh no, I think not; there was nothing so serious between them as that.” “So serious!” repeated Phœbe, archly. “So sweet,” said Arthur, promptly and tenderly--“serious is the conventional phrase.” “Why did he neglect her? Did he speak of her unkindly when he left England?” “He said something about Paul--her brother in those days, you know, when you were Miss Tallant--something about prying into his affairs.” “Indeed!” “Paul had followed him to the club, and warned him against some persons who were conspiring to win his money at cards.”