No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. All were attracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed about in happy independence.

Mr. Crawford was the first to move forward to examine the capabilities of that end of the house. The lawn, bounded on each side by a high wall, contained beyond the first planted area a bowling-green. And farther yet, a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades, and commanding a view over them into the tops of the trees of the wilderness immediately adjoining.

It was a good spot for fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followed by Miss Bertram and Mr. Rushworth. When the others began to form into parties, these three were found in busy consultation on the terrace by Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny, who seemed as naturally to unite, and who, after a short participation, left them and walked on.

The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, were still far behind. Julia, whose happy star no longer prevailed, was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and restrain her impatient feet to that lady’s slow pace. Meanwhile her aunt, having fallen in with the housekeeper, who was out to feed the pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip.

Poor Julia, the only one out of the nine not tolerably satisfied with her lot, was now in a state of complete penance—as different from the Julia of the barouche-box as could be imagined. The politeness with which she had been brought up made it impossible for her to escape; while the lack of consideration of others (never an essential part of her education), made her miserable under it.

“This is insufferably hot,” said Miss Crawford, appearing almost morbidly grey-complexioned in the bright sunlight, when they had taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to the door in the middle which opened to the wilderness. “Shall any of us object to being comfortable? Here is a nice little wood, if one can but get into it. What happiness if the door were unlocked! but of course it is. In these great places the gardeners are the only people who can go where they like.”

The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they were all agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving the unmitigated glare of day behind. A considerable flight of steps landed them in the wilderness, which was a planted wood of about two acres. Though chiefly of larch and laurel and beech cut down and laid out with too much regularity, it was darkness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with the bowling-green and the terrace.