ong to, anyhow?"

"To yer Rant, miss, and the hother ladies and gentlemen that owns the
park."

"Well, and what could _they_ do?"

Morris, still vague and uncomfortable, murmured concerning prosecution.

"What's prosecution?" queried Cornelia. "Sounds exciting, anyway. Much
more exciting than sitting on the gravel paths. Guess I'll stay where I
am, and find out. You get on with your work, and keep calm, and when
the fun begins you can waltz in, and play your part. It's no use _one_
officer trying to arrest me, though! You'll need a _posse_, for I'll
fight to the death! You might give them the tip!"

Morris walked down hill in stunned surprise, leaving Cornelia to chuckle
to herself in restored good humour. Her impulses towards rebellion and
repentance were alike swift and speedy, but between the two lay a span
of licence, when she revelled in revolt, and felt the tingling of
riotous success. Such a moment was the present as she watched Morris's
dumb retreat, and cast her dancing eyes around, in search of the next
victim.

For the moment no living creature was in sight, but the scene was
sufficiently entrancing to justify the statement that there is no
country in the world so charming as England on a fine June day.

It was hot, but not too hot to be exhausting; little fleecy white clouds
flecked the blue dome overhead; the air was sweet with the odour of
flowering trees now in the height of their beauty. The gardener who had
planted them had possessed a nice eye for colour, and much skill in
gaining the desired effects. The golden rain of laburnum, and deep rich
red of hawthorn, were thrown up against the dark lustre of copper-beech,
or the misty green of a graceful fir tree; white and purple lilac were
divided by a light pink thorn, and on the tall chestnuts the red and
white blossoms shone like candles on a giant Christmas tree. It was the
one, all-wonderful week, when everything seems in bloom at the same
time; the week which presages the end of spring, more beautiful than
summer, as promise is ever more perfect than fulfilment. Even the stiff
crescent of houses looked picturesque, viewed through the softening
screen of green. Cornelia scanned the row of upper windows with smiling
curiosity. No one was visible; no one ever _was_ visible at a window at
Norton Park; but discreetly hidden by the lace curtains, half a dozen
be-capped heads might even now be nodding in her direction.--"My dear,
_what