h came home to make her acquaintance, and all were
charmed with her. The Squire petted and made much of his new daughter
and could not say enough in her praise. Mrs. Templestowe averred that
she was as good as she was pretty, and as "sensible" as if she had been
born and brought up in England; and, worst of all, Isabel, for the time
of their stay, was perfectly absorbed in Geoff and Clover, and though
kind and affectionate when they met, had little or no time to spend on
Imogen. She and Clover were of nearly the same age, each had a thousand
interesting things to tell the other, both were devoted to Geoffrey,--it
was natural, inevitable, that they should draw together. Imogen
confessed to herself that it was only right that they should do so, but
it hurt all the same, and it was still a sore spot in her heart that
Isabel should love Clover so much, and that they should write such long
letters to each other. She was a conscientious girl, and she fought
against the feeling and tried hard to forget it, but there it was all
the same.

But while I have been explaining, the rapid feet of the two walkers had
taken them past the Hoops Inn, and to the opening of a rough shady lane
which made a short cut to the grounds of Stowe Manor, as the
Templestowes' place was called.

They entered by a private gate, opened by Imogen with a key which she
carried, and found themselves on the slope of a hill overhung with
magnificent old beeches. Farther down, the slope became steeper and
narrowed to form the sharp "chine" which cut the cliff seaward to the
water's edge. The Manor-house stood on a natural plateau at the head of
the ravine, whose steep green sides made a frame for the beautiful
picture it commanded of Lundy Island, rising in bold outlines over
seventeen miles of blue, tossing sea.

The brother and sister paused a moment to look for the hundredth time at
this exquisite glimpse. Then they ran lightly down over the grass to
where an intersecting gravel-path led to the door. It stood hospitably
open, affording a view of the entrance hall.

Such a beautiful old hall! built in the time of the Tudors, with a great
carven fireplace, mullioned windows in deep square bays, and a ceiling
carved with fans, shields, and roses. "Bow-pots" stood on the sills,
full of rose-leaves and spices, huge antlers and trophies of weapons
adorned the walls, and the polished floor, almost black with age, shone
like a looking-glass.

Beyond opened a