With flowers as white as the pearls of dew
That shone beside! And the glorious rose
Lay like a beauty in warm repose,
Blushing in slumber.’”
Margery listened dreamily. Her thoughts had flown to the springtime of her life, recalled by the breath of the flowers, the sweetness of the air.
The earl had wandered across the lawn; and, though he looked less grave and worn, the expression of his eyes as he turned from Margery was unspeakably sad.
Margery’s reverie was disturbed by the squire, and she was soon deep in an interesting scientific discussion with him. Presently her husband returned, followed by one of the gardeners.
“I am going to the west part of the grounds, my darling,” he said. “Marshall tells me the men are going to cut down that dead tree this morning. It was struck by lightning in the autumn.”
“I will come with you, Court,” broke in the squire. “In my young days I was rather good at that sort of thing.”
“Come, by all means. Marshall, see that there are two extra axes ready.”