So at least thought a young man, who, catching through the trees a glimpse of her white dress, had left the road and cut across the Park toward her. As he came near his eyes were fixed upon her earnest face, raised to the glory of sight and sound above. She did not hear his footsteps till he was quite close to her; then she sprang to meet him with a low cry of delight.
“Oh, Hugh! have you heard?”
“Yes, I heard at Donisbro’ and came straight.”
Something new in his voice brought a sudden flush to the delicately tinted face. Her eyes fell before his eager ones.
“Come into the gardens,” she said, turning, and the two went wandering together in a strange silence over the cool turf of the bowling green where King Charles I. had once played at his favourite game with a loyal Lisle of old, a Sydney too.
The balmy, fragrant air was filled with the clang of bells; beyond the Park they were beginning to cut hay in the long meadows sloping upwards towards the grey-green downs. A great bush, covered with the little yellow roses Sydney wore, smiled up at the two who stood before it.
“Pang—pang-pang-pang—pang—pang-pang-pang!” went the bells.
“They ring with goodwill,” Hugh said, with a smile.