The game was now nearly over, for the bright orb of day had already sank
behind the distant hills, and the silvery crescent of the summer's young
moon had risen above the tops of the tall chestnuts and was shooting
forth her rays of soft, pale light, rendering all objects shadowy and
indistinct, while the gently deepening purple shades of eve, and the
gray mists of twilight were fast closing in and around the happy group,
hiding from further view, as it were, with a veil of soft, fleecy
clouds, the family and fortunes of Arthur, Earl of Castlemere, and his
beautiful Countess, Edith, the Lady of Vellenaux.


THE END.