XXIX 



THIS morning, waking at dawn, the Padrona was impelled 

 to roll out of bed, and look out of both her windows. 

 The one over her balcony gives down the valley and th e 

 one opposite her bed affords her vision 

 of the moor rolling away beyond the 

 Dutch Garden 

 and the ter- 

 race corner. - 

 If she had 



been but a woman of mo- 

 derate vigour, she would not have gone to 

 bed again till the whole pageant of mysterious glory had 

 fulfilled itself before her eyes. For what a sight it was ! 

 First of all, the whole garden, woodland and heather 

 hills were steeped in a translucence for which there is no 

 name. It is a virgin hour, and its purity no words can 

 describe. The Ling, in full bloom, was silver and amethyst 

 on the rise, misty purple and blue in the hollows. Behind 

 the shouldering hills a rift of sky was a radiant lemon- 

 yellow, a kind of honey sea of light. And above that, 

 again, little drifts of cloud had caught a wonderful orange- 

 rose glow like the wings of cherubim about the Throne. 

 Down the valley there were silver mists against the most 

 tender, clear horizon/ and all along the Lily Walk the 

 clumps of Tiger Lilies seemed to be like little Fra Angelico 

 angels, holding their breath in adoration ! 

 Everything lies, after all, in the point of view. The dawn 

 was decidedly too pink for safety, and the clumps of Lilies 

 that looked so pious and recollected have got " the disease " 

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