And so the subject dropped. Meanwhile Phœbe and Amy were enjoying the spring sunshine at the top of Berne Hills. The glorious beams shot down upon the landscape from behind little scudding clouds, and made the beech-trees shine like silver.
The river that wound its way from east to west shone out here and there in great white patches.
Hundreds of shifting shadows fell upon hill and dale; lulling sounds came up the hills from the villages round about; the birds sung as they only sing in Avonworth Valley; and everything breathed of peace, content, and happiness.
“And so you think Mr. Hammerton is getting into bad company, Amy?” said Miss Tallant, when the two fair girls had sat down to rest in the summer-house.
“He is, indeed,” said Amy, seriously.
“Gambling?”
“Yes; to a dreadful extent, Paul says.”
“May I see the letter, dear?” Miss Tallant asked, laying her hand affectionately on Amy’s shoulder.
“I tell you candidly, Phœbe dear, I do not like to let you see what Paul says about your brother.”
“Don’t mind that. I have long since believed my brother to be much less noble in his conduct than could be desired,” said Phœbe.