avenue of oaks; to the right, a pleasure-ground was carried aslope towards the park.
"Still and so beautiful was that fair night,
It might have calmed the gay amid their mirth,
And given the wretched a delight in tears."
But Lady Marchmont's feelings was not in unison with the scene; she was excited and restless, needed to talk, and not to think—in a word, to be taken out of herself.
The objects around were wearisomely familiar; they recalled too much for one, who wished rather to hope than to repine! Henrietta's temper was too sudden and quick for melancholy; she was impatient of her own regret, and strove to dissipate rather than indulge the mood.
At that moment it struck eight o'clock. The church-spire, touched by the moonbeams, shone above the aged yews that stood in a heavy group below. The chime struck Lady Marchmont's musing into another vein.
"How early," thought she, "and Algernon will not be at home for many hours. I might go and visit Ethel: to-morrow I shall have little leisure." She threw a mantle hastily around her,
