Dead leaves that speak of Autumn and coming dissolution float toward the loiterers on the lawn, and, sinking at their feet, preach to them a lesson of the life that lasts not, and of that other life that in all its splendor may yet dawn upon them.
A soft and sullen roar from the ocean makes the silence felt. The sea, clothed round with raiment of white waves, and rich with sparkling life, dashing itself along the beach, breathes a monotonous murmur that wafts itself inland and falls with vague music upon the listening ear. Thoughts arise within the breast, born of the sweet solemnity of the hour, and the sadness that belongs to all life—but in this changeable world nothing lasts, and presently seeing something in the lawn below that puzzles her sight, Julia says, quickly: "What are the moving forms I see down there?"
"Only the children undulating," says Mr. Browne, promptly.
"What?" says Sir Mark.
"I have said!" returns Dicky.
"There is surely something besides children," says Portia, trying to pierce the gathering darkness. "See, what is that coming towards us now?"
They all peer eagerly in the direction of the firs, from between which a flying mass may be seen emerging, and approaching rapidly to where they are all seated.
"It is only Jacky on his fact," says Mr. Browne, at length after a careful examination of this moving form.
"On what?" asks Roger, curiously.