The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the former combining both the useful and the agreeable.  A luxurious grape-vine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, while the wide, graveled walks were bordered, some with box, and others with choice flowers, now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing marks of great beauty, when properly tended and cared for.  At the extremity of the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the garden, was a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with many well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at the side of a tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced itself through the limestone soil natural to Kentucky.

Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting terms with the Livingstones; consequently, ’Lena had never before been at Woodlawn, and her admiration increased with every step, and when at last they entered the house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms, it knew no bounds.  She remembered the time when she had thought her uncle’s furniture splendid beyond anything in the world, but it could not compare with the magnificence around her, and for a few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment.  Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked “what was the matter?”

“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove an illusion and fade away,” said she.

“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw before?” he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,” at the same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she first saw the inside of her uncle’s house, and ending by saying, “But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge pretty well what were my ideas of the world.”

Wishing to see if ’Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode of living Durward said, “I have never heard anything concerning your eastern home and how you lived there—­will you please to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered ’Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her commence.

Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now at his bidding ’Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare walls, and oaken floors—­of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she picked huckleberries with Joel Slocum!  And then, in lower and more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley, near which her beloved grandfather—­the only father she had ever known—­was now sleeping.  ’Lena never spoke of her grandfather without weeping.  She could not help it.  Her tears came naturally, as they did when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child.