Softly the hillside brooklet fell, like a miniature
cascade, into the little pond, and the low music it made blended
harmoniously with the fall of the fountain not far away.
It was indeed a beautiful place; and when the furnishing process
began, crowds of eager people daily thronged the spacious rooms,
commenting upon the carpets, the curtains, the chandeliers, the
furniture of rosewood and marble, and marvelling much why Richard
Harrington should care for surroundings so costly and elegant.
Could it be that he intended surprising them with a bride? It was
possible--nay, more, it was highly probable that weary of his
foolish sire's continual mutterings of "Lucy and the darkness," he
bad found some fair young girl to share the care with him, and
this was her gilded cage.
Shannondale was like all country towns, and the idea once
suggested, the story rapidly gained ground, until at last it
reached the ear of Grace Atherton, the pretty young widow, whose
windows looked directly across the stretches of meadow and
woodland to where Collingwood lifted its single tower and its
walls of dark grey stone.
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