were floating languidly above the wayside hedges. The cawing of
rooks, the cooing of wood-pigeons, and the hum of insects invaded the
stillness of the lonely farms which, at long distances, gave picturesque
evidence of the human toil expended on the careful, rather melancholy
charm of that northern landscape. The Villa Miraflores--an elaborate
reproduction of the celebrated Villa Madama near Rome--stood on a wooded
hill rising out of a river, facing the rocky sea-coast. Built by the
Archduke Charles of Alberia for his morganatic wife, Henriette Duboc,
and pulled down since for the erection of a convent, it is never
mentioned in history, and it has been long forgotten by the few
inhabitants of the neighbourhood. But as the young couple entered the
lodge gates that day, and drove along the stately avenue, the beautiful
ill-fated structure rose before them as some castle in the air brought
down to earth by a magician's wand. Was this their home? They dared not
speak lest the vision should fade too soon. But Orange remembered it
all--this was no dream. There were the winding alleys leading to peeps
of water, land and sky; there was the path which he had followed, years
before, in search of his destiny. He drew a long breath, drinking in the
intoxicating strength of the fresh sea air wafted through pine-trees.
The atmosphere was charged with the very madness of youth and joy. Who
could have hoped for such a miracle as this? Had the whole course of
fate a like to show? Did it not seem a triumph over life and its
threatened deceptions? His own servant and Brigit's maid--whom they had
sent there some days before--were watching for them at the open door,
and the sight of those well-known faces gave him a still further
assurance of the scene's actuality. They crossed the hall without
noticing a small blue telegram on one of the malachite tables. They
walked together through every room, wondering at their treasures,
looking out of the windows, amazed, bewitched, gradually becoming used
to the fact of each other's company in such a solitude. What were the
woes and cryings of the outer world to them, lost in the impenetrable
silence of that retreat? A strange, double sensation of delight and
forgetfulness surged in them both. All knowledge of disturbing human
influences, of the fret, and discord, and inquietude of common existence
seemed trivial and even false. They looked with confidence into each
other's eyes, as though they were th