“I wonder,” she said, “how I wonder what it is the trees are always saying to each other! Look at those tall heads bent mysteriously together, every leaf trembling with the importance of what it is saying. Just outside Leeholme there are two tall oak trees that have stood for centuries. They always seem to me to be talking of what has passed in the village, and lamenting together that the world has changed so terribly since they were young.”
Sir Ronald looked into the lovely, glowing face.
“You have as many sweet fancies as ever,” he said, eagerly. “I always told you you had the gift of poetry.”
“The pity is,” said Clarice Severn, “that poetry and common sense so often clash. What reason is there in talking trees?”
“Ah, Miss Severn,” said Sir Ronald, gayly, “some of the sweetest things in life are those that have no reason in them.”
That was how and when the tragedy began.
CHAPTER IX.
KENELM EYRLE’S LOVE.
Sir Ronald sang those words to himself as he rode back home, the face of Lady Hermione before him all the way, her voice in his ears, the glad sunshine, the whispering leaves, the fragrant flowers, all seemed part of her.
“The poet’s ideal woman, she is, indeed,” he said to himself; “she has brought every charming quality of her childhood into her beautiful womanhood. She is arch, dainty, piquant, tender, earnest; there are grand qualities in her. Sure as her eyes are stars and her lips roses, so sure has she a magnificent and noble nature but half developed yet.”
The very glamor and madness of love was on him. It seemed to him that every leaf on the trees muttered her sweet name as he passed.