“David,” said he, “that sister of yours won’t live another year unless she gives up the adverse climate of Scotland, the impure air of the town and the racket of fashionable life.” “Tell her so, then,” said Sir David. Master Simon drew back and blinkingly surveyed the set face with an expression of doubt, surprise and unwilling respect. “The woman’s ill,” he ventured at last. “Shall I bid her rest? Shall I cancel those letters of invitation?” asked Sir David ironically. THE STAR DREAMER BOOK III Come down ... from yonder mountain heights. And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down! TENNYSON (_The Princess._) CHAPTER I THE LITTLE MASTER OF BINDON She played about with slight and sprightly talk, And vivid smiles, and faintly venom’d points Of slander, glancing here and grazing there. —TENNYSON (_Merlin and Vivien_). In the terraced gardens, under the spreading shadows of the cedar trees, was gathered a motley group. Beyond that patch of shade the sun blazed down on stone steps and balusters, on green turf and scarlet geranium, with a fervour the eye could scarce endure. The air was full of hot scents. On a day such as this, Bindon of old was wont to seem asleep: lulled by the rhythmic, rocking dream-note of the wild pigeons, deep in its encircling woods. On a day such as this, the wise rooks would put off conclave and it would be but some irrepressible younger member of the ancient community that would take a wild flight away from leafy shade and, wheeling over the tree tops, drop between the blue and the green a drowsy caw. But things were changed this July at Bindon: these very rooks held noisy counsel in mid air and discussed what flock of strange bright birds it was that had alighted in their quiet corner of the world, to startle its greens and greys, to out-flaunt its flower-beds with outlandish parrot plumage, to break the humming summer silence with unknown clamours. “The Deyvil take my soul!” said Thomas Villars reflectively.