Arthur had now been there two months, and had never left the place, his friends paid their evening visits about once a week, for there had been a wedding to occupy them, and Martha and Garry were now man and wife. The winter was at hand, and not a word was said of the period when his instructions were to cease. Grace Gordon and he were on the most friendly footing imaginable, and could now converse very well in German, but though her progress was astonishing, yet Madam Herman never opened her lips to wonder or praise. Deep, deeper in love did poor Arthur get every day—a hopeless love he knew it to be, and yet he would not have given up the tormenting pleasure for the world; he wished, and dreamed his wishes over and over again, that Grace Gordon was as poor as himself, for he thought there was a possibility then of winning her affections. For any thing he knew to the contrary, she _might_ be poor, but how was he to find it out, unless the embargo on words was taken off. At every turn he met a domestic, but he knew them not even by name, all his wants were supplied in the most exact and liberal manner, but he asked no questions, and their respect for him prevented any approach toward familiarity. He had walked and ridden over every part of the estate with the exception of an inclosure, which he was given to understand, in the very beginning, was appropriated to the use of the domestics, and into which visitors never entered. A road from the next market-town reached this inclosure, and every thing wanted for the family was brought here in carts and wagons. A dense hedge of cedar, eight feet in height, which extended to the right and left, prevented any one from seeing what was passing on the other side, and Arthur thought that this was all in good taste and good keeping with the general plan. It was impossible to guess at the extent of this inclosure, for the hedge, or fence made a number of circuitous bends, and thus rendered it deceptive to the eye.