hot-houses and the glass and walled gardens of fruit and vegetables.
To the south and west opened park and vale, where receded forest
and fallow lands, until the grey ramparts of the moor ascending
beyond them hemmed in the picture.

Sir Walter Lennox had devoted himself to the sporting side of the
estate and had made it famous in this respect. His father, less
interested in shooting and hunting, had devoted time and means to
the flower gardens, and rendered them as rich as was possible in
his day; while earlier yet, Sir Walter's grandfather had been more
concerned for the interior, and had done much to enrich and
beautify it.

A great terrace stretched between the south front and a balustrade
of granite, that separated it from the gardens spreading at a lower
level. Here walked Henry Lennox and sought Tom May. It was now
past eight o'clock on Sunday morning, and he found himself alone.
The sun, breaking through heaviness of morning clouds, had risen
clear of Haldon Hills and cast a radiance, still dimmed by vapour,
over the glow of the autumn trees. Subdued sounds of birds came
from the glades below, and far distant, from the scrub at the edge
of the woods, pheasants were crowing. The morning sparkled, and,
in a scene so fair, Henry found his spirits rise. Already the
interview with Mary's husband on the preceding night seemed remote
and unreal. He was, however, conscious that he had made an ass of
himself, but he did not much mind, for it could not be said that
May had shone, either.

He called him, and, for reply, an old spaniel emerged from beneath,
climbed a flight of broad steps that ascended to the terrace, and