the grass sward before it, his eyes fell upon a very pleasing
scene. To the right was the house, with its vine-covered porch and
several great oak trees overhanging it, which still retained their heavy
foliage, although it was beginning to lose something of its summer
green. In front of him, at the opposite end of the grassy yard, was the
pretty little arbor in which he had told Mr Junius Keswick of the
difficulties in the way of his speaking his mind to Miss March. Beyond
the large garden, at the back of this arbor, stretched a wide field with
a fringe of woods at its distant edge, gay with the colors of autumn.
The sky was bright and blue, and fair white clouds moved slowly over its
surface; the air was sunny and warm, with bumble-bees humming about some
late-flowering shrubs; and, high in the air, floated two great
turkey-buzzards, with a beauty of motion surpassed by no other flying
thing, with never a movement of their wide-spread wings, except to give
them the necessary inclination as they rose with the wind, and then
turned and descended in a long sweep, only to rise again and complete
the circle; sailing thus for hours, around and around, their shadows
moving over the fields below them.

Fearing that he had sustained some injury more than a mere sprain,
Lawrence had had the Howlett's doctor summoned, and that general
practitioner had come and gone, after having assured Mr Croft that no
bones had been broken; that Mrs Keswick's treatment was exactly what it
should be, and that all that was necessary for him was to remain quiet
for a few days, and be very careful not to use the injured ankle. Thus
he had the prospect of but a short confinement; he felt no present pain;
and there was nothing of the sick-room atmosphere in his surroundings,
for his position close to the door almost gave him the advantage of
sitting in the open air of this bright autumnal day.

But Lawrence's mind dwelt not at all on these ameliorating
circumstances; it dwelt only upon the fact that he was in one house and
Miss March was in another. It was impossible for him to go to her, and
he had no reason to believe that she would come to him. Under ordinary
circumstances it would be natural enough for her to look in upon him and
inquire into his condition, but now the case was very different. She
knew that he desired to see her, that he had been coming to her when he
met with his accident, and she knew, too, exactly what he wanted to say;
and i