half-circle, shutting the place in for a quiet
breezy communion with garrulous ocean, whose waves ran eagerly up the
strand to gossip of wrecks and cyclones, with the staid martinet
poplars that nodded and murmured assent to all their wild romances.

Such was the pleasant impression produced upon the mind of the lonely
woman who now owned it, and who hoped to spend here in seclusion and
peace the residue of a life whose radiant dawn had been suddenly
swallowed by drab clouds and starless gloom.

The Scotch are proverbially credulous concerning all preternatural
influences; and, had Robert Maclean been cognizant of half the ghostly
associations attached to the residence which he had selected in
compliance with general instructions from his mistress, it is scarcely
problematical whether the house would not have remained in the hands
of the real-estate broker; but, fortunately for their peace of mind,
Elsie and her son were as yet in blissful ignorance of the dismal
celebrity of their new home.

Resting her folded hands on the bare shoulders of the Ariadne, which
modest lichens and officious wreaths of purple verbena were striving
to mantle, Mrs. Gerome scanned the scene before her; and a quick,
nervous sigh, that was almost a pant, struggled across her lips.

"Unto this last nook of refuge have I come; and, expecting little,
find much. Shut out from the world, locked in with the sea,--no
neighbors, no visitors, no news, no gossip,--solitary, shady, cool,
and quiet,--surely I can rest here. Forked tongues of scandal can not
penetrate through those rock-ribbed hills yonder, nor dart across that
defying sea; and neither wail nor wassail of men or women can disturb
me more. But how do I know that it will not prove a mocking cheat like
Baiae and Maggiore, or Copais and Cromarty? I have fled in disgust and
_ennui_ from far lovelier spots than this, and what right have I to
suppose that contentment has housed itself as my guest in that old,
mossy, brick pile, where mice and wrens run riot? Like Cain and
Cartophilus, my curse travels with me, and I no sooner pitch my tent,
than lo! the rattle and grin of my skeleton, for which earth is not
wide enough to furnish a grave! Well! well! at least I shall not be
stared to death here,--shall not be tormented by eye-glasses and
sketch-books; can live in that dim, dark, greenish den yonder,
unobserved and possibly forgotten and finally sleep undisturbed in the
dank shade of those deod