CHAPTER I.
"A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman."—Love's Labors Lost.
The gates are thrown wide open, and the carriage rolls smoothly down the long dark avenue, beneath the waving branches of the tall elms and the copper beeches, through which the dying sun is flinging its parting rays.
The horses, sniffing the air of home, fling up their heads and make still greater haste, until...
more...