and
green light--every flower-bed was bordered with lines and circles of
harmless flame, and the fountains tossed up tall columns of amber rose,
and amethyst spray against the soft blue darkness of the sky, in which a
lustrous golden moon had just risen. The brilliancy of the illuminations
showed up several dark figures strolling in couples about the
grounds--romantic persons evidently, who were not to be persuaded to
come indoors, even for the music of the band, which just then burst
forth invitingly through the open windows of the picture-gallery.

Two of these pensive wanderers were Marcia Van Clupp and Lord Algernon
Masherville,--and Lord Algy was in a curiously sentimental frame of
mind, and weak withal, "_comme une petite queue d'agneau afflige_" He had
taken a good deal of soda and brandy for his bilious headache, and,
physically, he was much better,--but mentally he was not quite his
ordinary self. By this it must not be understood that he was at all
unsteadied by the potency of his medicinal tipple--he was simply in a
bland humor--that peculiar sort of humor which finds strange and mystic
beauty in everything, and contemplates the meanest trifles with emotions
of large benevolence. He was conversational too, and inclined to quote
poetry--this sort of susceptibleness often affects gentlemen after they
have had an excellent dinner flavored with the finest Burgundy. Lord
Algy was as mild, as tame, and as flabby as a sleeping jelly-fish,--and
in this inoffensive, almost tender mood of his, Marcia pounced upon him.
She looked ravishingly pretty in the moonlight, with a white wrap thrown
carelessly round her head and shoulders, and her bold, bird-like eyes
sparkling with excitement (for who that knows the pleasure of sports, is
not excited when the fox is nearly run to earth?), and she stood with
him beside one of the smaller illuminated fountains, raising her small
white hand every now and then to catch some of the rainbow drops, and
then with a laugh she would shake them off her little pearly nails into
the air again. Poor Masherville could not help gazing at her with a
lack-lustre admiration in his pale eyes,--and Marcia, calculating every
move in her own shrewd mind, saw it. She turned her head away with a
petulant yet coquettish movement.

"My patience!" she exclaimed; "yew _kin_ stare! Yew'll know me again
when yew see me,--say?"

"I should know you anywhere," declared Masherville, nervously fumbling
with t