n the judgment of the critics, and
thought of the Donatello.

A long conference in the smoking-room on political matters put music and
musicians out of his head; and when he went to sleep, about two o'clock
in the morning, it was to dream, if he dreamt at all, of his maiden
speech in Parliament, and that elevation to the woolsack which his
mother was so fond of prophesying.

Sydney was an early riser, and breakfast on Sundays at Culverley was
always late. He was tempted by the beauty of the morning to go for a
stroll in the gardens; and thence he wandered into the park, where he
breathed the fresh cool air with pleasure, and abandoned himself, as
usual, to a contemplation of the future. The park was quickly crossed,
for Sydney scarcely knew how to loiter in his walking, more than in any
other of his actions; and he then plunged into a fir plantation which
fringed a stretch of meadow-land, now grey and drenched with dew and
shining in the morning sun. Even to Sydney's unimaginative mind the
scene had its charm, after the smoke of London and the turmoil of the
last few days: he came to the edge of the plantation, leaned his elbows
on the topmost rail of a light fence, and looked away to the blue
distance, where the sheen of water and mixture of light and shade were,
even in his eyes, worth looking at. A cock crowed in a neighboring
farmyard, and a far-away clock struck seven. It was earlier than he had
thought.

Two or three figures crossing the meadow attracted his attention. First
came a laboring man with a pail. Sydney watched him aimlessly until he
was out of sight. Then a child--a gentleman's child, judging from his
dress and general appearance--a boy of six or seven, who seemed to be
flying tumultuously down the sloping meadow to escape from his governess
or nurse. The field ran down to a wide stream, which was crossed at one
point by a plank, at another by stepping-stones; and it was towards
these stepping-stones that the boy directed his career. Behind him, but
at considerable distance, came the slender figure of a young woman, who
seemed to be pursuing him. The child reached the stream, and there stood
laughing, his fair curls floating in the wind, his feet firmly planted
on one of the stones that had been thrown into the water.

Sydney was by no means inclined to play knight-errant to children and
attendant damsels, and he would probably have continued to watch the
little scene without advancing, had not the