This grove, dismal in winter, and awful at night, was deliciously cool and sombre in the dog days. The trees were spires, and their great stems stood serried like infantry in column, and flung a mighty canopy of sombre plumes over head. A strange, antique, and classic grove--_nulli penetrabilis astro._ This retreat was enclosed on three sides by a wall, and on the east side came nearly to the house; a few laurel bushes separated the two. At night it was shunned religiously, on account of the ghosts. Even by daylight it was little frequented, except by one person: and she took to it amazingly. That person was Mrs. Gaunt. There seems to be, even in educated women, a singular, instinctive love of twilight; and here was twilight at high noon. The place, too, suited her dreamy meditative nature. Hither, then, she often retired for peace and religious contemplation, and moved slowly in and out among the tall stems, or sat still, with her thoughtful brow leaned on her white hand: till the cool, umbrageous retreat got to be called among the servants, "The Dame's Haunt." This, I think, is all needs to be told about the mere place, where the Gaunts lived comfortably many years; and little dreamed of the strange events in store for them; little knew the passions that slumbered in their own bosoms, and, like other volcanoes, bided their time. END OF VOL. I. GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY BY CHARLES READE In Three Volumes. Vol. II London CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY 1866 TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER I One day, at dinner, Father Francis let them know that he was ordered to another part of the county, and should no longer be able to enjoy their hospitality. "I am sorry for it," said Griffith, heartily; and Mrs. Gaunt echoed him out of politeness; but, when husband and wife came to talk it over in private, she let out all of a sudden, and for the first time, that the spiritual coldness of her governor had been a great misfortune to her all these years. "His mind," said she, "is set on earthly things. Instead of helping the angels to raise my thoughts to heaven, and heavenly things, he drags me down to earth. Oh, that man's soul was born without wings." Griffith ventured to suggest that Francis was, nevertheless, an honest man, and no mischief-maker. Mrs. Gaunt soon disposed of this. "Oh, there are plenty of honest men in the world," said she; "but in one's spiritual director, one needs something more than that, and I have pined for it like a thirsty soul in the desert all these years. Poor good man, I love him dearly; but, thank heaven, he is going."