CHAPTER I

ENTER THE DUCHESS.


The peaceful stillness of an English summer afternoon brooded over
the park and gardens at Overdene. A hush of moving sunlight and
lengthening shadows lay upon the lawn, and a promise of refreshing
coolness made the shade of the great cedar tree a place to be
desired.

The old stone house, solid, substantial, and unadorned, suggested
unlimited spaciousness and comfort within; and was redeemed from
positive ugliness without, by the fine ivy, magnolia trees, and
wistaria, of many years' growth, climbing its plain face, and now
covering it with a mantle of soft green, large white blooms, and a
cascade of purple blossom.

A terrace ran the full length of the house, bounded at one end by a
large conservatory, at the other by an aviary. Wide stone steps, at
intervals, led down from the terrace on to the soft springy turf of
the lawn. Beyond--the wide park; clumps of old trees, haunted by shy
brown deer; and, through the trees, fitful gleams of the river, a
narrow silver ribbon, winding gracefully in and out between long
grass, buttercups, and cow-daisies.

The sun-dial pointed to four o'clock.

The birds were having their hour of silence. Not a trill sounded
from among the softly moving leaves, not a chirp, not a twitter. The