To George, as to Elizabeth, this was a bitter drop which had fallen into their cup. They saw that a strong antagonism would assuredly grow up betwixt their fathers. All their ideas of rural economy were so totally and irreconcileably opposed. Bitterly did Elizabeth deplore their ever coming into such close and permanent contact; bitterly did she repent having proposed their removal hither. By her marriage with George, she would have come amongst her friends here without one painful circumstance. But the change was made, and these two faithful hearts resolved that no family dissension which might arise should break or weaken the sacred tie of their own souls. They endeavoured, each of them, so to arrange their visits to each other’s house, as to come as little in the way of each other’s father as possible, without seeming to make an actual coldness or breach. But this was a most difficult plan of operations to manage. If Mr. Drury did not see George for several days, he would say— “Well, George Woodburn seems to avoid us. He is like his father, I suppose. He takes part with him, and can’t forgive this ridding my farm of its lumber and rubbish.” “No, dear father,” Elizabeth would say, “George does not concern himself about it; but he is very busy—and I wish, however, you would not mention the subject so often to him. It looks as though you wished to remind him of his father’s vexation. Oh, do, dear father, let the matter be a tabooed subject. There is plenty to talk of besides.” “Plenty to talk of!—to be sure there is. But I have no notion of people having such thin skins, such tender ears, that they can’t bear to hear of a tree falling or of a hedge being lopped. And I am sure I very seldom refer to the thing.” “Only every time that George Woodburn is here, dear father. Though he does not trouble himself about it, it must become tiresome to him.” “So he finds my company tiresome, does he, eh? A nice young man! Perhaps he’ll find yours tiresome soon, Elizabeth, if he be so difficult to please. So that’s the way the wind blows, eh? Um—um!”—or rather an indescribable noise made with his mouth shut and through his nose. At Woodburn Grange, Mr. Woodburn would say— “Have you seen Miss Drury lately?” “Yes; she was here this morning.” “Oh, she was! She takes care that I don’t see her. I suppose she’s not pleased with me because I don’t like the devastations of that father of hers. I suppose she takes up the cudgels for him. Well, I am sorry for it—I am sorry indeed that such a sweet, good creature has such a father. As for poor Mrs. Drury, she does not seem to have a soul of her own. She is just like a scared automaton, if an automaton could be scared. She must have had a pretty life of it with such a man.”