the hour of six
` Yes , dear , they are lovely , ' answered Ida , quietly . She was devouring the beauty of the scene with her eyes . She had seen nothing like it in her narrow wanderings over the earth -- nothing so simple , so beautiful , and so lonely . She was sorry when they left that open hill country and came into a more fertile scene , a high road , which was like an avenue in a gentleman 's park , and then the village duck-pond and red homestead , the old gray church , with its gilded sun-dial , marking the hour of six , the gardens brimming over with roses , and as full of sweet odours as those spicy islands which send their perfumed breath to greet the seaman as he sails to the land of the Sun . The carriage stopped at the iron gate of an exquisitely kept garden , surrounding a small Gothic cottage of the fanciful order of architecture , -- a cottage with plate-glass windows , shaded by Spanish blinds , a glazed verandah sheltering a tesselated walk , sloping banks and terraces , on a very small scale , stone vases full of flowers , a tiny fountain sparkling in the afternoon sun . This was Dr. Rylance 's country retreat . It had been a yeoman 's cottage , plain , substantial and homely as the yeoman and his household .