Several of the upper windows were shuttered, some of the others showed a
broken pane or two. Here and there a shutter had fallen away, or was
hanging by a solitary hinge, suggesting thoughts of ghostly flappings
to and fro in the rough wind on winter nights. Doors and window frames
were blistering and splitting for want of paint. Close by the sacred
terrace itself lay the fragments of a broken chimney-pot, blown down
during the last equinoctial gales and suffered to lie where it had
fallen. Everywhere were visible tokens of that miserly thrift which,
carried to excess, degenerates into unthrift of the worst and meanest
kind, from which the transition to absolute ruin is both easy and
certain.
For a full hour Janet trod the weed-grown walks with clasped hands and
saddened eyes. At the end of that time Dance came in search of her. Lady
Chillington wanted to see her again.
(_To be continued._)
SPES.
"When we meet," she said. We never
Met again--the world is wide:
Leagues of sea, then Death did sever
Me from my betrothed Bride.
When we parted, long ago--
Long it seems in sorrow musing--
Fair she stood, with face aglow,
In my heart a hope infusing.
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