'H'm, it would want a good deal of repairing,' remarked the other, tugging at his sandy moustache. 'I should pull down that tower and the older part, and throw out a billiard-room and a conservatory. I suppose the stables would all want rebuilding, and no doubt that wood could be cleared, and turned into pleasure-grounds. It would cost a sight of cash to do it all shipshape—not that that's much odds to me if a thing takes my fancy. This grass-land would be grand for a racer or two; I've my eye on the Melton sweepstakes yet. When did you say it falls due?'

'Next July,' returned the thin man, lowering his voice. 'Of course, they will try every end up to meet it, but unless they can raise it privately, which doesn't seem likely, there isn't a soul who would lend more than two-thirds of the amount on the security, so the thing is as good as done.'

Eavesdropping was certainly not one of Peggy's besetting sins, but she could not help overhearing all that was said, and as the pair rode on down the path towards the gate, she picked up her basket and walked in the same direction on her own side of the hedge, so as to get a good look at them if possible. At the gate they paused, for it was shut, and he of the gray whiskers, after fumbling at the latch with his whip, was evidently preparing with much reluctance to dismount, when, spying Peggy, he called to her, and asked her to open it.

Peggy felt half inclined to refuse, and turn away, for she did not like his tone, but her kindly country instinct prevailed, and she swung it open wide. He rode through without even a 'Thank you!' but his companion fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and, scarcely stopping to look at her, flung her a penny as he passed. All the proud Vaughan blood rushed into Peggy's face. In a fury of wrath she seized the offending coin and flung it after its donor, but, like many of our keenest shafts, it fell harmless, for she missed her aim, and the horsemen rode on, sublimely unconscious of the storm they had left behind them.

'That they should dare!' said Peggy hotly to herself, flushing all over with indignation. 'I suppose they took me for a village child. I'm afraid I do look rather untidy with blackberrying, but all the same they might have seen the difference. I wish I had never gone near the gate, and let them open it for themselves. David,' she said to the old man, who was coming across the field with a sack of potatoes, 'who are those people riding along the pasture? I can't call them gentlemen.'

'Who be they two, Miss Peggy?' said David, laboriously putting down the sack and shading his eyes with his hand. 'Wheer did you say they be?'

'In the pasture. Oh, look quick, or they'll be gone!' cried Peggy, impatient at his slow ways.

'Oh, I know they! Yes, I do for sure. I see'd 'em round t'other side o' the field five minutes agone. The thin un in front be Mester Reade, the lawyer fra' Warford, and a tight-fisted rascal he be, too, from all they say. It's Heaven help them as Lawyer Reade gets his teeth into! And the big, stout man be Mester Norton, the distiller, him as has those works t'other side o' Warford, and runs half the drink-shops in the town, to say naught o' the country publics he owns, too. The teetotalers calls him "Old Blazes," partly to favour his red face and partly 'at he keeps the whisky traffic going so briskly. He's worth a power o' money, he be, but it all comes out o' poor folks' pockets, what ought to be put to a better use.'

So that was the father of Phyllis and Marjorie Norton, that vulgar man with the loud voice and the coarse red face, and those pretty frocks and handsome carriages were all paid for out of the ruin of poor people's homes; for the lower parts of Warford had a bad character, and the clergy waged ceaseless war against the terrible curse of drink.

'What are they doing in our fields?' inquired Peggy, suddenly recalling the conversation she had inadvertently overheard, the remembrance of which had been lost in the heat of her wrath.