t a dream was here!
Methought a serpent ate my heart,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey."

--_Midsummer Night's Dream._

Long, low terraces bathed in sunshine; a dripping, sobbing fountain;
great masses of glaring flowers that mix their reds and yellows in
hideous contrast and sicken the beholder with a desire for change;
emerald lawns that grow and widen as the eye endeavors vainly to grasp
them, thrown into bold relief by the rich foliage, all brown, and
green, and red, and bronze-tinged, that spreads behind them; while
beyond all these, as far as sight can reach, great swelling parks show
here and there, alive with deer, that toss and fret their antlered
heads, throwing yet another charm into the already glorious scene.

Such is Herst Royal, as it stands, a very castle in its pride of birth.
On one side the "new wing" holds prominence, so called, although fully
a century has passed since mason's hand has touched it; on the other is
a suspicion of heavy Gothic art. Behind, the taste of the Elizabethan
era holds full sway; in front (forgetful of time) uprears itself the
ancient tower that holds the first stones in all its strength and
stately dignity; while round it the sympathetic ivy clings, and,
pressing it in its long arms, whispers, "Courage."

Upon the balcony the sleepy peacocks stand, too indolent to unfurl
their gorgeous plumage, looking in their quiet like statues placed at
intervals between the stone vases of scarlet geraniums and drooping
ferns that go to adorn it.

There is a dead calm over all the house; no sound of life beyond the
indistinct hum of irrepressible nature greets the ear; all is
profoundly still.

The click of high-heeled shoes, the unmistakable rustle of silk, and
the peacocks, with a quick flutter, raise their heads, as though to
acknowledge the approach of their mistress.

Stepping from one of the windows, thereby displaying to the unobservant
air an instep large but exquisitely arched, Marcia Amherst comes slowly
up to where the lazy fowl are dreaming. Almost unconsciously (because
her face is full of troubled thought), or perhaps a little vengefully,
she flicks the one nearest to her with the handkerchief she carries
loosely in her hand, until, with a discordant scream, it rouses itself,
and, spreading its tail to its fullest, glances round with conscious
pride.

"That is all you are good for," says Marcia out loud, contemptuously.

Her voice is sin