flutings and bows and rufflings innumerable. Elizabeth's dress was a
long, perfectly plain one, of white India mull. A narrow black belt
confined it at the waist, a collar of rich lace and a brooch of gold at the
throat. Her fair hair was dressed in a large loose bow on the crown,
and lay in soft light curls upon her brow. Her feet were sandaled,
her large white hands unjeweled and ungloved, and with one she lifted
slightly her flowing dress. Resplendent with youth, beauty, and
sunshine, she affected Richard as no woman had ever done before. She
was the typical Saxon woman, the woman who had ruled the hearts and
homes of his ancestors for centuries, and she now stirred his to its
sweetest depths. He did not go to meet her. He would not lose a step
of her progress. He felt that at last Jove was coming to visit him.
It was a joy almost solemn in its intensity and expectation. He held
out his hand, and Elizabeth took it. In that moment they saw each
other's hearts as clearly as two drops of rain meeting in air might
look into each other if they had life.

Yet they spoke only of the most trivial things--the dogs, and the
weather, and Richard's ride to Leeds, and the stumbling of Antony's
horse. "We left the Squire in the village," said Richard. "A woman
who was apparently in very great trouble called him."

"A woman who lives in a cottage covered with clematis?"

"I think so."

"It must have been Martha Craven. I wonder what is the matter!" and
they walked together to the open door. The squire had just alighted
from his horse, and was talking earnestly to his favorite servant.
He seemed to be in trouble, and he was not the man to keep either