caught a faint touch of the coming dawn; there
was a more generous tone on the masses of foliage, on the flower-beds,
and on the grass; and now the cheerful chirping of the birds had begun
among the leaves. And what more beautiful surroundings could have been
imagined for the production of any pastoral entertainment? The wide lawn
was bounded on one side by a dense thicket of elms and limes and
chestnuts, and on the other by a tall, dark hedge of holly; while here
and there was a weeping-willow, round the stem of which a circular seat
had been constructed, the pendulous branches enclosing a sort of rustic
bower. As this fantastic performance went forward, the skies overhead
slowly became more luminous; there was a sense of warmth and clear
daylight beginning to tell; the birds were singing and chattering and
calling everywhere; and the sweet, pure air of the morning, as it
stirred, and no more than stirred, the trembling leaves, brought with it
a scent of mignonette that seemed to speak of the coming of June.

Laura, in the person of Lady Adela Cunyngham, had reproached the
faithless Damon (who was no other than Mr. Lionel Moore)--

"Ungrateful Damon, is it come to this?
Are these the happy scenes of promis'd bliss?
Ne'er hope, vain Laura, future peace to prove;
Content ne'er harbors with neglected love."

--and Damon had replied (not mumbling his lines, as a privileged actor
sometimes does at rehearsal, but addressing them properly to the hapless
Laura)--

"Consider, fair, the ever-restless pow'r,
Shifts with the breeze, and changes with the hour:
Above restraint, he scorns a fixt abode,
And on his silken plumes flies forth the rambling god."

Then Lady Sybil took out her violin from its case and drew the bow
across the strings.

"We'll let you off the song, if you like, Mr. Moore," Lady Adela said
to the young baritone, but in a very half-hearted kind of way.

"Oh, no," said he, pleasantly, "perhaps this may be my only rehearsal."

"The audience," observed Lord Rockminster, who, at a little distance,
was lying back in a garden-chair, smoking a cigarette--"the audience
would distinctly prefer to have the song sung."

Lady Sybil again gave him the key-note from the violin; and, without
further accompaniment, he thus addressed his forsaken sweetheart:

"You say at your feet that I wept in despair,
And vow'd that no angel was ever so fair?
How could you believe all th