f　inexperience　is　over　your　eyes；”　he　answered；　“and　you　see　it　through　a　charmed　medium：　you　cannot　discern　that　the　gilding　is　slime　and　the　silk　draperies　cobwebs；　that　the　marble　is　sordid　slate；　and　the　polished　woods　mere　refuse　chips　and　scaly　bark。　Now　here”　（he　pointed　to　the　leafy　enclosure　we　had　entered）　“all　is　real；　sweet；　and　pure。”

He　strayed　down　a　walk　edged　with　box；　with　apple　trees；　pear　trees；　and　cherry　trees　on　one　side；　and　a　border　on　the　other　full　of　all　sorts　of　old…fashioned　flowers；　stocks；　sweet…williams；　primroses；　pansies；　mingled　with　southernwood；　sweet…briar；　and　various　fragrant　herbs。　They　were　fresh　now　as　a　succession　of　April　showers　and　gleams；　followed　by　a　lovely　spring　morning；　could　make　them：　the　sun　was　just　entering　the　dappled　east；　and　his　light　illumined　the　wreathed　and　dewy　orchard　trees　and　shone　do。

“Jane；　will　you　have　a　flower？”

He　gathered　a　half…blown　rose；　the　first　on　the　bush；　and　offered　it　to　me。

“Thank　you；　sir。”

“Do　you　like　this　sunrise；　Jane？　That　sky　with　its　high　and　light　clouds　which　are　sure　to　melt　away　as　the　day　waxes　warm—this　placid　and　balmly　atmosphere？”

“I　do；　very　much。”

“You　have　passed　a　strange　night；　Jane。”

“Yes；　sir。”

“And　it　has　made　you　look　pale—were　you　afraid　when　I　left　you　alone　with　Mason？”

“I　was　afraid　of　some　one　ing　out　of　the　inner　room。”

“But　I　had　fastened　the　door—I　had　the　key　in　my　pocket：　I　sho