'Well, it is young again and beautiful; but no--I have no faith in the scissors; I still believe in the influence--from the tips of your fingers, your looks, and tones. Flowers, like fairies, have their favourites, whom they smile on and obey; and I think this is a haunted glen--trees, flowers, all have an intelligence and a feeling--and I am sure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window.' With a strange meaning echo, those words returned to her afterwards--'I'm sure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window.' But no matter; the winged words--making pleasant music--flew pleasantly away, now among transparent leaves and glimmering sun; by-and-by, in moonlight, they will return to the casement piping the same tune, in ghostly tones. And as they chatted in this strain, Rachel paused on a sudden, with upraised hand, listening pleasantly. 'I hear the pony-carriage; Dorcas is coming,' she said. And the tinkle of tiny wheels, coming down the road, was audible. 'There's a pleasant sense of adventure, too, in the midst of your seclusion. Sudden arrivals and passing pilgrims, like me, leaning over the paling, and refreshed by the glimpse the rogue steals of this charming oratory. Yes; here comes the fair Brunnisende.' And he made his salutation. Miss Brandon smiled from under her gipsy-hat very pleasantly for her. 'Will you come with me for a drive, Radie?' she asked. 'Yes, dear--delighted. Margery, bring my gloves and cloak.' And she unpinned the faded silk shawl that did duty in the garden, and drew off her gauntlets, and showed her pretty hands; and Margery popped her cloak on her shoulders, and the young lady pulled on her gloves. All ready in a moment, like a young lady of energy; and chatting merrily she sat down beside her cousin, who held the reins. As there were no more gates to open, Miss Brandon dismissed the servant, who stood at the ponies' heads, and who, touching his hat with his white glove, received his _conge_, and strode with willing steps up the road. 'Will you take me for your footman as far as the town?' asked Lord Chelford; so, with permission, up he jumped behind, and away they whirled, close over the ground, on toy wheels ringing merrily on the shingle, he leaning over the back and chatting pleasantly with the young ladies as they drove on. They drew up at the Brandon Arms, and little girls courtesied at doors, and householders peeped from their windows, not standing close to the panes, but respectfully back, at the great lady and the nobleman, who was now taking his leave. And next they pulled up at that official rendezvous, with white-washed front--and 'post-office,' in white letters on a brown board over its door, and its black, hinged window-pane, through which Mr. Driver--or, in his absence, Miss Anne Driver--answered questions, and transacted affairs officially.