The Mistress of Shenstone CHAPTER I ON THE TERRACE AT SHENSTONE THREE oclock on a dank afternoon, early in November. The wintry sunshine, in fitful gleams, pierced the greyness of the leaden sky. The great trees in Shenstone Park stood gaunt and bare, spreading wide arms over the sodden grass. All nature seemed waiting the first fall of winters snow, which should hide its deadness and decay under a lovely pall of sparkling white, beneath which a promise of fresh life to come might gently move and stir; and, eventually, spring forth.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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