“Not half good enough to have such a dear, dear wife as you, Amy,” said the loving old lord. “And now what is it?” “The Barton Hall Estate,” said Amy, triumphantly. “The house where Phœbe was born, where she lived, and which was really her home, the fields in which she walked, the rocks and trees which her husband loved to paint, the place where Phœbe and your Amy lived and loved together.” “Good, good!” said the Earl. “You consent?” asked Amy, joyfully. “Certainly,” said his lordship, “with all the pleasure in life; you never doubted it. Besides, the estate is your own, Amy.” “My dear love,” said the Countess, a warm affectionate smile lighting up her beautiful face; but her countenance fell immediately, as Lionel Hammerton emerged from a thicket close by. “Oh! Lionel, going for a ramble?” said the Earl. “Yes,” said Lionel, raising his hat to the Countess, “the weather is so tempting, and my time down here so short.” “Indeed; when do you leave us then?” asked the Earl. “Next month,” said Hammerton. “Thank God!” said the Countess in her heart. “Your friend the artist is married to-day,” said the Earl; “a quiet wedding all to themselves, and a secret.” “I understood it was to be so,” said Hammerton. “I hope they will be happy.” “As happy as two other friends of yours,” said his lordship, merrily. “Happier, if that were possible,” said Lionel. “But it is not possible,” said his lordship. “Is it Amy?” “I think not,” said Amy, casting a side-glance of defiance at Lionel. “When two people marry, happiness comes to them in a hundred different ways.” “What do you think her ladyship’s wedding present is to be?” his lordship asked. “Diamonds and pearls, and bracelets of gold, and rubies,” said Lionel. “Her ladyship has good choice of jewelry and things that are costly.” Amy could understand the covert sarcasm of Lionel’s reply, but his lordship laughed and said: “I knew you could not guess. I tried much more likely presents than those, without avail. Guess again.” “Books of poems bound in gold, full of legends of love and constancy.” “No--you’ll never guess. What do you think of the Barton Hall Estate for a wedding present?” Lionel hesitated and looked at Amy, who had taken her husband’s arm and was walking quietly by his side. “I am not joking. What do you think of a woman who presents to her friend Barton Hall, and the lands surrounding it, chiefly on account of the dear associations connected with it, and all that sort of thing?” “Why, that she is a truly noble woman, and worthy to be the wife of Earl Verner,” said Hammerton, with genuine enthusiasm. “Thank you, brother--thank you,” said the Countess, with tears in her eyes, and something of the tender expression of those past days which Lionel was honestly trying to blot out for ever. “Why, my darling, there are tears in your eyes,” said his lordship.