tly happy in her constant companionship, and the
hours fled from him iris-tinted as he relived the age of gold.

But if Evander trod the air, there was another who pressed the earth
with leaden feet and carried a heart of lead. Halfman read Evander's
happiness with hostile eyes; he read, too, very clearly, Brilliana's
content in Evander's company, and he raged at it. He had grown so
used to himself as Brilliana's ally that he had come to dream mad
dreams which were none the less sweet because of their madness. He
had rehearsed himself if not as Romeo at least as Othello, and if
Brilliana was not in the least like Desdemona that knowledge did not
dash him, for he thought her much more delectable than the Venetian,
and he thanked his stars that he was not a blackamoor. He had not
pushed his thoughts to a precise formula; he had been content to
delight during the hours of siege in the companionship of a matchless
maid, and now the maid had found another companion, and he knew that
he was fiercely in love and as foolishly jealous as a moon-calf.
Brilliana was as kind to him as ever, but she gave her time to the
new man, and Halfman, inwardly bleeding and outwardly the magnificent
stoic, left the pair to themselves and absented himself at meal-times
on pretext of pressing business with the volunteer troop. But his
temper grew as a gale grows and would soon prove a whirlwind.

The garden-room at Harby was one of its many glories. Its panelled
walls, its portraits of old-time Harbys, its painted ceiling, were
exquisite parts of its exquisite harmony. On the side towards the
park the wall was little more than a colonnade--to which doors could
be fitted in winter-time, and here, as from a loggia, the indweller
could feast on one of the fairest prospects in Oxfordshire. Across
the moat the gardens stretched, in summer-time a riot of color,
flowers glowing like jewels set in green enamel. In the waning autumn
the scene was still fair, even though the day was overcast as this
day was, from which the weather-wise and even the weather-unwise
could freely and confidently prophesy rain. Brilliana dearly loved
her garden-room for many things, most, perhaps, because of its
full-length portrait of her King, an honest copy from an adorable
Vandyke, to which, as to a shrined image, Brilliana paid honest
adoration. She knew more about the picture than anyone else in
Harby, and used sometimes to wonder if the knowledge would ever avail
her.