Aristocracy (Social class) -- England -- Juvenile fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Anne, 1702-1714 -- Juvenile fiction
She saw it then, and her heart gave a great throb. They were looking
upon the west front of the gray old house, no longer lying desolate,
forlorn, shut up, its windows broken or shuttered, neglect and decay
everywhere. No, all that was changed now. The windows shone between
their carved mullions; the creepers which curtained the walls had been
cut and trained, so that they could bloom and breathe once more, instead
of hanging in vast masses, almost broken down by their own weight. The
last of the sunlight gilded the tracery of oriel window and ancient
carving; lay like a caress upon the smooth green of the wide terrace in
front, with its clipped yew trees, its stone vases and statues, and its
ancient sundial. Two stately peacocks walked up and down, uttering from
time to time their strange, melancholy trumpet note. A great hound rose
up from a sheltered corner, threw his head into the air, sniffed for a
few moments, and then bounded towards them with a mighty baying sound.
"Our first welcome, dear heart," spoke Grey. "This is one of the
guardians of Hartsbourne’s treasure. Well, he must learn that he has a
new and a greater treasure to guard now."
The hound knew the master well. He fawned upon him with delight; and,
after having gravely sniffed at Geraldine’s proffered hand, took her
once and for all beneath his protection, and shared the love of his
faithful heart betwixt her and her lord.
The young wife slipped from her saddle as they reached the little wooden
bridge which led over the stream, and the servants coming up in a few
moments took the horses round by the road, whilst husband and wife went
onwards with the hound in attendance, up the sloping greensward, where
flowers gemmed the borders, and roses gave forth their sweetness upon
the evening air; through the gardens, already partially restored, and in
time to be made yet more beautiful; towards the house which was their
home, lying dim and dreamlike in the gathering twilight.
"Dear heart, we are at home. Welcome to Hartsbourne!" spoke he. And
she could only lift her quivering lips to his, for she had no words in
which to answer him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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