ontaine, a country neither grand nor wild,
hardly romantic, but with a charm of its own that enticed
Graham onwards in spite of the hot August sun. It was so
green, so peaceful, so out of the world; the little valleys
were wrapped so closely amongst the hills, the streams came
gushing out of the limestone rocks, dry water, courses led him
higher and higher up amongst the silent woods, which stretched
away for miles on either hand. Sometimes he would come upon an
open space, whence he could look down upon the broader valley
beneath, with its quiet river flowing through the midst,
reflecting white villages, forges, long rows of poplars, an
occasional bridge, and here and there a long low island; or
descending, he would find himself in some narrow ravine, cleft
between grey rocky heights overgrown with brushwood and
trailing plants, the road leading beside a marshy brook, full
of rushes and forget-me-nots, and disappearing amongst the
forest trees. All day long Graham wandered about that pleasant
land, and it was long past the four o'clock dinner hour when
he stood on the top of the hill he had seen that morning from
his window, and looked across the wide view of woods and
cornfields to where a distant cloud of smoke marked the city
of Liege. Thence descending by a steep zig-zag path, with a
bench at every angle, he crossed the road and the little
rivulet, and found himself once more in the garden at the back
of the hotel.

CHAPTER II.

In the Salon.

He had left it in the morning dewy, silent, almost deserted;
he found it full of gaiety and life and movement, talking,
laughing, and smoking going on, pretty bright dresses glancing
amongst the trees, children swinging under the great branches,
the flickering lights and shadows dancing on their white
frocks and curly heads, white-capped bonnes dangling their
_bebes_, papas drinking coffee and liqueurs at the little
tables, mammas talking the latest Liege scandal, and
discussing the newest Parisian fashions. The table-d'hote
dinner was just over, and everybody had come out to enjoy the
air, till it was time for the dancing to begin.

The glass door leading into the passage that ran through the
house stood wide open; so did the great hall door at the other
end; and Graham could see the courtyard full of sunshine, the
iron railing separating it from the road, the river gleaming,
the bridge and railway station beyond, and then again the
background of hills. He pass