He marched before them in evident displeasure; Winifred, who knew that his discontent would not last long, looking at him with a little amusement. They skirted the field where the haymakers had been at work all day, and the sweet dry grass lay tossed about in fragrant swathes as the forks had dropped it. Across, between the elm-trees, the sun shone upon the canal and the Underham houses, while, beyond again, lay meadows and wooded hills, and the soft western moorland. On the other side of the nearest field was a figure on an old bay cob, with a dog standing by his side, and a man pointing. This was the Squire, too deep in consultation over some boundary annoyances to notice the little party scrambling over their stiles, and waving every now and then to attract his attention. "Which of you are going to dine at the Bennetts' to-morrow?" "Papa, Anthony, and I." "And is Marmaduke to be there?" "I suppose so. It depends on the trains." "And Mr Mannering, of course. Marion, did you ever hear that there is a romantic story about those brothers?" "What's that?" said Anthony, stopping and looking round. "It was Miss Philippa who told me," Winifred explained, "and she was not at all clear about it; but it seems that one of them was engaged to a lady, when his brother fell into a bad state of health, requiring great care for a long while, and the other gave up everything, devoted himself, nursed, prevented people from finding out how incapable he had become, and was really the means of saving his life, or his reason, or whatever was in danger. But then comes the sad part. The lady grew tired of waiting, and married some one else." "It is rather a complicated story. And which is the hero?" "Mr Mannering," Marion said, promptly. "I believe it to have been Mr Robert," said Anthony, in a tone of decision. "So do I," said Winifred, looking brightly at him, happy in fulfilling a longing against which she not infrequently fought more steadily, from thinking that it was not well for him to carry matters altogether as he liked.