aid, and every word Mr. Hammond
addressed to her. She had received no specific instructions from Lady
Maulevrier. They were not necessary, for the Fraeulein knew her
ladyship's intentions with regard to her elder granddaughter,--knew
them, at least, so far as that Lesbia was intended to make a brilliant
marriage; and she knew, therefore, that the presence of this handsome
and altogether attractive young man was to the last degree obnoxious to
the dowager. She was obliged to be civil to him for her nephew's sake,
and she was too wise to let Lesbia imagine him dangerous: but the fact
that he was dangerous was obvious, and it was Fraeulein's duty to protect
her employer's interests.

Everybody knew Lord Maulevrier, so there was no difficulty about getting
admission to Wordsworth's garden and Wordsworth's house, and after Mr.
Hammond and his companions had explored these, they went back to the
shores of the little lake, and climbed that rocky eminence upon which
the poet used to sit, above the placid waters of silvery Rydal. It is a
lovely spot, and that narrow lake, so poor a thing were magnitude the
gauge of beauty, had a soft and pensive loveliness in the clear
afternoon light.

'Poor Wordsworth' sighed Lesbia, as she stood on the grassy crag looking
down on the shining water, broken in the foreground by fringes of
rushes, and the rich luxuriance of water-lilies. 'Is it not pitiable to
think of the years he spent in this monotonous place, without any
society worth speaking of, with only the shabbiest collection of books,
with hardly any interest in life except the sky, and the hills, and the
peasantry?'

'I think Wordsworth's was an essentially happy life, in spite of his
narrow range,' answered Hammond. 'You, with your ardent youth and vivid
desire for a life of action, cannot imagine the calm blisses of reverie
and constant communion with nature. Wordsworth had a thousand companions
you and I would never dream of; for him every flower that grows was an
individual existence--almost a soul.'

'It was a mild kind of lunacy, an everlasting opium dream without the
opium; but I am grateful to him for living such a life, since it has
bequeathed us some exquisite poetry,' said Lesbia, who had been too
carefully cultured to fleer or flout at Wordsworth.

'I do believe there's an otter just under that bank,' cried Molly, who
had been watching the obvious excitement of her bandy-legged hound; and
she rushed down to the brin