The lawn-tennis ground formed a second terrace banked up from the park which sloped away rapidly thence to the winding river Ore.
In the midst of the flower-beds and moving coloured kaleidoscope of figures on the gravelled terrace was a fountain and a basin. In the latter floated water-lilies, and gold fish darted, and carried off the crumbs cast to them. The water that leaped out of a triton’s shell was turned in the evening sun as it fell, into amethysts.
Away, across the valley, stood the little church with its tower peeping out of limes, now all alight with the western sun; and the cock on its top was turned to a bird of fire.
“Hark!” exclaimed the rector, “I hear our bell. Good heaven! Surely I’ve not forgotten—I did not know there was to be a funeral. I did not know any one was ill—in danger. It is tolling.”
Then the band, which had rested for a moment and shaken the moisture out of their wind instruments, and cleared their throats with iced ale, came to attention as the conductor rattled his staff on the music-stand, and beat, one, two, three, four! Then with a blast and crash and rattle—
“Se-e-e the conquer-ing her-er-er-er-er-o comes,
Sou-ou-ound the trum-pets,
Be-e-eat the drums.”
At that moment, again, a little hand was thrust into that of Lady Lamerton, and again she saw her boy, Giles, at her side. He was looking pale, and was crying.
“What is the matter, Giles? You are shivering. Have you taken a chill? Go indoors, dear.”