His hand still rested upon the latch of the gate, when his meditations
were dispelled by a soft strain of music, which floated forth upon the
balmy air, harmonizing with the quiet beauty of the landscape which was
illumined by the last rays of a gorgeous summer sunset.

Then came a pause in the music, and the silence was filled with the
melodious voice of Elinor Wildegrave. She sang a sweet plaintive ditty,
and the tones of her voice had power to soften and subdue the rugged
nature of Mark Hurdlestone. His knees trembled, his heart beat faintly,
and tears, for the first time since his querulous infancy, moistened his
eyes. He softly unclosed the gate, and traversed the little garden with
noiseless steps, carefully avoiding the path that led directly to the
house.

A screen of filberts concealed his tall figure from observation; and
stepping behind the mossy trunk of an excavated oak that fronted the
casement, he sent an eager glance towards the spot from whence the
sounds issued. The sight that met his eager gaze called into action all
the demoniacal passions which the tones of that sweet voice had lulled
to rest.

Seated on a rude bench, fronting the lawn, he beheld the only human
creature he had ever loved encircled in the arms of his brother
Algernon. The guitar, on which he had been playing, now lay neglected at
his feet, and the head of the beautiful girl was fondly nestled in his
bosom. As the delighted Algernon bent caressingly over her, to catch the
low sweet words that murmured from her lips, his bright auburn curls
mingled with the glossy raven tresses that shaded the transparent cheek
of his lovely mistress, and he pressed a fond kiss upon her snowy brow.