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§ 4

Summer passed over in a warm breath. From the trees hung heavy, listless leaves, that held the brown threat of autumn in their darkness. Under their shadow round Conster the dusk fell earlier than in the fields, but it was a dusk full of flickering, wandering colours—gay colours of gowns and coats and cloaks that touched and swam together, while sounds of speech and laughter passed up from under the trees into the lighted house. It was many years since the place had known such youth and mirth, such singing and laughing and lute-playing. The rose arbours and summerhouses became bowers for courting lovers, and the long alleys of the woods were sped with the running feet of shepherds pursuing nymphs in a chase as dim as any lingering in faded wools on Conster's tapestries. By the end of the summer Bess was married to Oxenbrigge, Madge was betrothed to Eustache de Champfort, and Henrietta to Dick Austen, who had somehow at last contrived to catch more than the trimmings of her petticoat.