“The scenery is getting well worth your attention here,” observed Sir Richard, turning graciously round towards Miss Aynton. “Belcomb is a complete solitude, but for those who are contented with the pleasures of the country, it is a pleasant spot enough.” “Can we see the house from here, Sir Richard?” “No, not until we reach this Windmill, on the top of the hill. The private road branches out from the highway at that spot; and the mill is the nearest inhabited house to Belcomb.--By the by, mother, Hathaway must be spoken to about those sails of his--there, you saw how even old Jenny started at them--it is positively dangerous for horses to pass by. He must build up that old wall a foot higher, and put a gate up. Any stray cattle might wander in and get knocked down--the sails are so close to the ground.” Master Walter had not at all relished Miss Aynton's rejoinder to his story; still less had he liked his brother's striking into the conversation; least of all did he approve of this landlord talk about repairs and alterations, which reminded him of his being a younger son, and having neither part nor lot in the great Lisgard heritage. “There's the Folly,” cried he suddenly, with a view of changing the subject; “upon that cliff-like hill yonder, above that belt of trees.” “What, that beautiful ivied tower!” exclaimed Rose. “Yes; without a roof to it.” “Well, at all events, it's very pretty,” said Miss Aynton reprovingly. “I am sure, Mr Walter, you ought to be grateful to your grandpapa for building so picturesque an edifice.” “He might have made a road, however, to it,” observed Walter satirically; “a road and a roof, I do consider to be indispensable.” “There's a beautiful winding path through the wood, Rose,” said Letty, “fifty times better than any road; and is not the piece of water charming? It is the only one with any pretension to be called a Lake in all the county.” Certainly Belcomb deserved praise. A small but comfortably furnished house, embosomed in trees, through which were the pleasantest peeps of hill and dale, and spread before it quite a crystal tarn, with rocky islands so picturesquely grouped that they almost gave the notion of being artificial. It was as though a segment of the Lake-country had been cut off, and inserted into the very midst of Wheatshire. It was as lonely, too, to all appearance, as any Cumberland mère. An old man and his wife, who were in charge of the place, came hirpling out with respectful welcomes, and the latter was about to remove the shutters of the drawing-room, when my Lady interposed. “No, Rachel; we will not trouble you to do that. We are going to picnic at the Tower. You seem quite surprised to see us so early. I suppose nobody has been here yet upon the same errand.” “Well, no, ma'am; nor is it likely, after your orders”----