iety!" said Eustace, with infinite disgust, only equalled by the
"Faugh!" with which Harold heard of the perfume. In fact, Eustace was
dreadfully afraid the other hunters had seen and recognised those
shoulders, even under the smock-frock, as plainly as he did, and he had
been wretched about it ever since.

"You talk of not wanting to do me harm," he said, "and then you go and
grub in such work as any decent labourer would despise."

So miserable was he, that Harold, who never saw the foolery in Eustace
that he would have derided in others, yielded to him so far as only to
give directions to Bullock for sending down the materials wanted for
the pond, and likewise for mending the roof of a cottage where a
rheumatic old woman was habitually obliged to sleep under a crazy
umbrella.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BIRDS OF ILL OMEN.

Nothing stands out to me more distinctly, with its pleasures and pains,
than the visit to Erymanth Castle--from our arrival in the dark--the
lighted hall--the servants meeting us--the Australians' bewilderment at
being ushered up to our rooms without a greeting from the host--my
lingering to give a last injunction in Eustace's ear, "Now, Eustace, _I
won't_ have Harold's hair greased; and put as little stuff as you can
persuade yourself to do on your pocket-handkerchief"--orders I had kept
to the last to make them more emphatic; then dashing after the
housekeeper, leaving them to work--my great room, where it was a
perfect journey from the fire to the toilet-table--my black lace dress,
and the silver ornaments those dear nephews had brought me from
London--and in the midst of my hair-doing dear little Viola's running
in to me in one of her ecstacies, hugging me, to the detriment of
Colman's fabric and her own, and then dancing round and round me in her
pretty white cloudy tulle, looped up with snowdrops. The one thing
that had been wanting to her was that her dear, darling, delightful
Lucy should be at her own ball--her birthday ball; and just as she had
despaired, it had all come right, owing to that glorious old giant of
ours; and she went off into a series of rapturous little laughs over
Dermot's account of her uncle's arrival pick-a-back. It was of no use
to look cautious, and sign at Colman; Viola had no notion of restraint;
and I was thankful when my dress was complete, and we were left alone,
so that I could listen without compunction to the story of Lord
Erymanth's arrival at Arked H