The moon
was rising above the amphitheatre of hills, and her rays were silvering
the placid bosom of the lake. Lights were dotted here and there about
the valley, telling of village life. The Prince of Wales's hotel yonder
sparkled with its many lights, like a castle in a fairy tale. The
stranger had looked upon many a grander scene, but on none more lovely.
Here were lake and mountain in little, without the snow-peaks and awful
inaccessible regions of solitude and peril; homely hills that one might
climb, placid English vales in which English poets have lived and died.
'Hammond and I mean to spend a month or six weeks with you, if you can
make us comfortable,' said Maulevrier.
'I am delighted to hear that you can contemplate staying a month
anywhere,' replied her ladyship. 'Your usual habits are as restless as
if your life were a disease. It shall not be my fault if you and Mr.
Hammond are uncomfortable at Fellside.'
There was courtesy, but no cordiality in the reply. If Mr. Hammond was a
sensitive man, touchily conscious of his own obscurity, he must have
felt that he was not wanted at Fellside--that he was an excrescence,
matter in the wrong place.
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