Let them 'gang their gait,' confound them!"-- the little dark man straightened himself fiercely--"I can get my pleasure out of the land; and as for your mother, she'd not lift a finger to propitiate one of them!" In the last words, however, there was not a fraction of that sympathetic pride which the ear expected, but rather fresh bitterness and grievance.
Marcella stood thinking, her mind travelling hither and thither with lightning speed, now over the social events of the last six weeks--now over incidents of those long-past holidays.

Was this, indeed, the second volume beginning--the natural sequel to those old mysterious histories of shrinking, disillusion, and repulse?
"What was it you wanted about those coverts, papa ?" she asked presently, with a quick decision.
"What the deuce does it matter?
If you want to know, I proposed to him to exchange my coverts over by the Scrubs, which work in with his shooting, for the wood down by the Home Farm.

It was an exchange made year after year in my father's time.

When I spoke to the keeper, I found it had been allowed to lapse.

Your uncle let the shooting go to rack and ruin after Harold's death.