The steep drive was warmly walled and sheltered on the side next the hill by horse-chestnuts, witch-elms, tall, flowering shrubs and evergreens, and a variety of tree-azaleas and rhododendrons which promised a blaze of beauty later in the season.
But the other side of the drive lay in full view of the open landscape; rolling grass slopes stretching down to the orchards and the valley.

Violets, white and blue, scented the air, and the primroses clustered at the roots of the forest trees.
The gnarled and twisted stems of giant creepers testified to the age of Barracombe House.

Before the entrance was a level space, which made a little spring garden, more formal and less varied in its arrangement than the terrace gardens on the south front; but no less gay and bright, with beds of hyacinths, red and white and purple, and daffodils springing amidst their bodyguards of pale, pointed spears.
A wild cherry-tree at the corner of the house had showered snowy petals before the latticed window of the study; the window whence Sir Timothy had taken his last look at the western sky, and from which his watchful gaze had once commanded the approach to his house, and observed almost every human being who ventured up the drive.
On the ridge of the hill above, and in clumps upon the fertile slopes of the side of the little valley, the young larches rose, newly clothed in that light and brilliant foliage which darkens almost before spring gives place to summer.
They found Lady Mary in the drawing-room; the sunshine streamed towards her through the golden rain of a _planta-genista_, which stood on a table in the western corner of the bow window.

She was looking out over the south terrace, and the valley and the river, just as Sarah had said.
He was shocked at her pallor, which was accentuated by her black dress; her sapphire blue eyes looked unnaturally large and clear; the little white hands clasped in her lap were too slender; a few silver threads glistened in the soft, brown hair.

Above all, the hopeless expression of the sad and gentle face went to John's heart.
_Was_ the doctor the only man in the world who had the courage to fight her battles for this fading, grieving woman who had been the lovely Mary Setoun; whom John remembered so careless, so laughing, so innocently gay?
He was relieved that she could smile as he approached to greet her.
"I did not guess you would come by the early train," she said, in glad tones.