n, thoughtfully, "and you will moot to Peter the scheme
for taking a house in town? But I should advise you to be guided by
his wishes over that. Still, it would be very delightful to meet
during our time of waiting; and that would be the only way. I won't
come down here again until I can declare myself. It is a--false
position, under the circumstances."

"I know; I understand," said Lady Mary; "but I am afraid Peter won't
want to stir from home. He is so glad to be back, poor boy, one can
hardly blame him; and he shares his father's prejudices against
London."

"Does he, indeed?" said John, rather dryly. "Well, make the most of
your summer with him. _You_ will get only too much London--in the near
future."

"Perhaps," Lady Mary said, smiling.

But, in spite of herself, John's confidence communicated itself to
her.

When Peter and John had departed, Lady Mary went and sat alone in the
quiet of the fountain garden, at the eastern end of the terrace. The
thick hedges and laurels which sheltered it had been duly thinned and
trimmed, to allow the entrance of the morning sunshine. Roses and
lilies bloomed brightly round the fountain now, but it was still
rather a lonely and deserted spot, and silent, save for the sighing of
the wind, and the tinkle of the dropping water in the stone basin.

A young copper beech, freed from its rankly increasing enemies of
branching laurel and encroaching bramble, now spread its glory of
transparent ruddy leaf in the sunshine above trim hedges, here and
there diversified by the pale gold of a laburnum, or the violet
clusters of a rhododendron in full flower. Rare ferns fringed the
edges of the little fountain, where diminutive reptiles whisked in
and out of watery homes, or sat motionless on the brink, with fixed,
glassy eyes.

Lady Mary had come often to this quiet corner for rest and peace and
solitude in days gone by. She came often still, because she had a
fancy that the change in her favourite garden was typical of the
change in her life,--the letting-in of the sunshine, where before
there had been only deepest shade; the pinks and forget-me-nots which
were gaily blowing, where only moss and fungi had flourished; the
blooming of the roses, where the undergrowth had crossed and recrossed
withered branches above bare, black soil.

She brought her happiness here, where she had brought her sorrow and
her repinings long ago.

A happiness subdued by many memories, chastened by lon