As the sombre brick pile burst on her sight her face grew white, and she felt a chill of absolute terror settling over her. She told herself fiercely that this would never do--that a contained presence and visible courage she must have, or assume, as they would be invaluable allies in the success of her scheme. The thought of her old father, almost helpless, and the cruel wrong they had each sustained, brought a sudden flood of resentment, and borne on this same current was self-possession and assurance. She turned off the highway directly in front of the gloomy-looking house girt with funereal cedars, and came to a farm gate, loosely hung, and sagging. It was hard work for her to drag it open from the saddle sufficiently wide for The Prince to pass through, but she managed it in time, conscious that the exertion had brought the rich colour back to her face. A rutty, unkept road led towards the yard fence, where it swerved around the corner and went on towards the stables. But there was a small gate in the fence, which, while not intended for the use of horsemen, Julia rode through. It was a dreary place into which she had come. There was no pavement or walk of any sort going up to the front of the house. The yard was covered with some rank and worthless variety of grass, which was tangled and long. Bushes, shrubs, all run wild, and an occasional flower which had come up by chance, were dispersed about. The flowers seemed sickly and afraid to grow, as though they had made a mistake in attempting life amid such surroundings, and wished to bloom and die and be done with it as quickly as possible. The cedars were nearer the house, and created a doleful, grave-yard-like air. The sun was lost among their dark branches, and the breeze which passed through them soughed mournfully. The ground beneath the trees was bare and brown.