Eton, soft in the summer moon and still in the summer night. He gazed upon
them; his countenance had none of the exultation, that under such
circumstances might have distinguished a more careless glance, eager for
fancied emancipation and passionate for a novel existence. Its expression
was serious, even sad; and he covered his brow with his hand.

END OF BOOK II.




BOOK III.


CHAPTER I.


There are few things more full of delight and splendour, than to travel
during the heat of a refulgent summer in the green district of some
ancient forest.

In one of our midland counties there is a region of this character, to
which, during a season of peculiar lustre, we would introduce the reader.

It was a fragment of one of those vast sylvan tracts wherein Norman kings
once hunted, and Saxon outlaws plundered; and although the plough had for
centuries successfully invaded brake and bower, the relics retained all
their original character of wildness and seclusion. Sometimes the green
earth was thickly studded with groves of huge and vigorous oaks,
intersected with those smooth and sunny glades, that seem as if they must