marked for the hundredth time how beautiful and picturesque a figure
the boy made in his suit of rich-coloured brocade, his curling, warm
brown hair falling on his shoulders in thick, natural curls such as no
perruquier could imitate, the bloom of health and out-door life upon
his cheek, his handsome, well-opened eye sparkling or melting in kindly
warmth as he conversed. He was a tall, straight-limbed lad, and had by
this time attained such height and so bore himself that there were but
few inches between his noble kinsman and himself, though the years
between them were so many, and my Lord Dunstanwolde was of no mean
stature.

Outside a heavy rain fell, deluging the earth and drenching such grass
as the winter had left, covering with its faded tussocks the sweep of
the park lands. The sky was heavy with leaden clouds from which the
water fell in sweeping dashes. Having walked for some time, the two
stopped before the wide bay window at the east end of the Long Gallery
and watched the deluge for a space, marking how the drops splashed upon
the terrace, how the birds flew before it, and how the deer huddled
together under the stripped trees as if glad of the small shelter their
trunks and bare branches could afford.

"Such a day brings back to a man the gloomiest things he knows," said
Lord Dunstanwolde after a few moments' silent gazing upon the scene. "I
no sooner paused here to look forth at the greyness than there came
back to me a hard tale I heard before I left Gloucestershire. 'Twas
another tale of Wildairs, Gerald."

"Of Sir Jeoffry?" said Roxholm, with interest. It had happened that
some time before Lord Dunstanwolde had heard of the impression made
upon him by the story of the poor lady and her brutal lord and master.