It was a lovely afternoon, milder than November often vouchsafes, and perfectly clear. The sun was pretty low, and its slanting beams lighted the smooth lake and threw long shadows across the lawn and over the garden, through the winding paths of which I was now sauntering. The last two days having been marked by no improvement in Mr. Rutledge, he had, of course, not been out of his room, and I had been left pretty much to myself, and had improved the time in perfecting my knowledge of the out-door attractions of the place, and from stable to garden, I now knew it thoroughly. Delightful days those were, saving the occurrence of a little loneliness and ennui that would creep over me as evening approached; delightful days, when, without a thought of care for present or future, I wandered unchecked over the loveliest spot I had as yet seen. A long avenue led from the house to the gate; the lawn on the right sloped down to the lake, a lovely sheet of water surrounded on three sides by woods; and around as far as the eye could reach, stretched wide fields, rich with cultivation, and woodlands where one could almost fancy the axe had never resounded. Further, however, than the gate, and the lake, and the boundaries of the lawn, I had never dared to venture. Dared, though, is not exactly the term; for if I had even thought of the word in that connection, I should probably have gone miles in an opposite direction, to prove that, as to that, I _dared_ go anywhere. But I had a sort of chivalrous respect for what I was certain would be the wishes of my protector, now _hors de combat_, and determined, therefore, to stay within the grounds. Which were ample enough to satisfy any reasonable young person, certainly, and picturesque enough, and well kept enough for the most fastidious. That particular afternoon, as the declining sun lighted up the dark massive house, and the fine old trees, nearly bare though they were, and the winding paths of the garden and broad fields beyond, Rutledge seemed to me the realization of all I had ever dreamed or read, of beauty and of stateliness. I walked slowly down the garden; the faint smell of some lingering grapes on the arbor overhead perfumed the air; the dead leaves rustled under my feet, alone breaking the stillness peculiar to an autumn afternoon, unprofaned by the many murmurs of insect-life, or the animating song of summer bird. You might listen for hours, and a nut dropping off the tree among the dry leaves, or the tinkling of a cow-bell, acres off across the fields, or the letting down a pair of bars somewhere about the farm, would be all the sounds that would break the serene silence.