This happiness is softer and more enraptured as with jaunty step and purple mantle, in satin and silk, and rigged up as cavalier to meet his lady love, Chester steps out of his boat on the dyke about half a mile west of Sandvliet, where there is a pretty landing-stage and ornamental steps running down to the water for lady’s use and a charming walk shaded by poplars leading up to the exquisite chateau built by my lord of Alva for his daughter’s summering. The house though reached by the walk, is situated right upon the dyke itself, giving it a water view and summer breezes blowing up the Schelde. One wing of it even juts over the water, a boat could sail beneath its windows. The mansion is extensive, consisting of a central portion and two wings; the one over the water from its luxurious balconies and awnings seems that portion where the Viceroy’s daughter herself resides; the other wing, as well as Guy can judge as he approaches it, is devoted to the uses of the servants and contains the kitchen and other offices of the house. The main portion is probably used for general reception purposes. Altogether it is a very handsome and extensive water villa, built with an exquisite Moorish grace and Orientally luxurious in its fittings. This can easily be seen from the distance, for there are blinds on the outside to keep the sun out, and the windows themselves in some cases are of ornamental glass. Running along the dyke in front of the house is a beautiful little garden, the trees, for it is well into May now, covered with early leaflets in their first green and freshest beauty. Some flowers, probably raised in hot-beds or green-house, have been planted in its grass plots. At the end furthest from the villa is a little summer house covered with vines and fronting on the water. This catches Guy’s eye as he looks about, inspecting carefully the house before he makes his entrance or knocks, calls or claps his hands for servants, after the manner of that day. Looking closely at it, Chester discovers within the flutter of a white gown. Is it the instinct of love that makes his heart beat wilder than it has ever beat before—save when she was in his arms? A poplar tree stands by the hedge. Seizing this Guy swings himself lightly into the garden, and carefully approaches the arbor, to see therein enrapturing sight. Hermoine de Alva—her face turned partly from him and looking seaward down the Schelde, is half reclining upon a low rustic bench made soft to her by cushions of down and silk, one little hand supporting the beautiful head, one graceful foot and delicate ankle outstretched, and all her lovely figure in softest draping white save where upon the neck, wrists and borders of her garments are trimmings of narrow black—makes picture upon which his eyes, that have so long been denied sight of her, could linger in a kind of dreamy rapture.