over the land.

Philippa sat down, and Lord Arleigh stood by her side.

The moonlight falling on her beautiful face softened it into wondrous
loveliness--it was pale, refined, with depths of passion in the dark
eyes, and tender, tremulous smiles on the scarlet lips. She wore some
material of white and gold. A thin scarf was thrown carelessly over her
white shoulders. When the wind stirred it blew the scarf against her
face.

She might have been the very goddess of love, she looked so fair out in
the starlight. If there had been one particle of love in Lord Arleigh's
heart, that hour and scene must have called it into life. For a time
they sat in perfect silence. Her head was thrown back against a pillar
round which red roses clustered and clung, and the light of the stars
fell full upon her face; the dark eyes were full of radiance.

"How beautiful it is, Norman," she said, suddenly. "What music has ever
equaled the whispers of the night-wind? It seems a sad pity after all
that we are obliged to lead such conventional lives, and spend the
greater part of them in warm, close rooms."

"You have a great love for out-of-door freedom," he remarked,
laughingly.

"Yes, I love the fresh air. I think if any one asked me what I loved
best on earth, I should say wind. I love it in all its moods--rough,
caressing, tender, impetuous, calm, stormy. It is always beautiful.
Listen to it now, just sighing in the branches of those tall trees.