Celia was awakened the next morning by the singing of the birds.

For a few minutes she was confused by her strangely luxurious surroundings; but she soon realized her good fortune, and she leapt out of bed, ran to the window, and peeped out on the wonderful view.

She might have stood openly at the window, for no building, no human being were in sight.

It seemed to her that she was the only person in that vast solitude of umbrageous park and wide-stretching heath.
Immediately beneath her lay the velvet lawns of the splendid gardens; they were irresistible; she had her bath and dressed quickly, and, to the amazement of the housemaids who were at work in the hall, went out bare-headed.

She felt as if every moment in which she was not enjoying this wonderful new experience of hers were a lost one; and she wandered about, stopping occasionally to examine the noble facade of the house, a quaint sundial, an antique fountain of bronze, some particularly tasteful arrangement of the flowers.
There was an Italian garden, with marble benches, fawns and dryads, which was exactly like those depicted in _Country Life_: and here it was, and she was free of it! Oh, marvellous! Presently a huge deerhound, graceful as the forest from which he sprang, came bounding to her; he stopped and eyed her critically for a moment, then he came forward in stately fashion and laid his beautiful head in the hands she outstretched to him.