Then began the second and more glowing chapter of this dramatic tale. Sir Harry must have been bitterly moved by the social ostracism of his ward and lady, and he shortened the period of her expiation by the only possible device left him, save one, and took her away. He had bought a large tract of land in Hopkinton, Massachusetts, and there he proceeded to build a manor-house, where, in a humble fashion, life might copy the abundance and solid magnificence of England’s ancestral homes. The country itself was a wonder of hill and valley,—hills where the loftier beauty of Wachusett and Monadnock might be viewed, valley where a happy village nestled, and where clear, cool streams flowed lightly to their outlet. Sir Harry was a clever purveyor of the good things of life; he made his manor-house commodious and fair to see, and erected a comfortable farm-house for his laborers; his great hall roof was supported by fluted columns, and its walls were hung with tapestry, rich of hue and texture. The house was approached by a long and stately avenue cut through magnificent chestnut-trees; the ground sloped down in commanding terraces of blooming sward, and the gardens and orchards were marvels of growth and abundance. In his gardening he took delight, but, alas for human pride and power! only the giant box of his borders and a few ancient trees have seen the present century, to attest his vanished life. [Illustration: “The giant box and a few ancient trees.”] [Illustration: “At the banquets”]