door and began a whispered conversation. We could hear that she
was protesting, and began to feel awkward enough. But whatever her
objections were, her master cut them short.

"Come in, sirs," he invited us: "I warned you that the fare would be
hard, but I repeat that you are welcome."

To our surprise and, I must own, our amusement, the woman caught up
his words with new protestations, uttered this time at the top of her
voice.

"The fare hard? Well, it might not please folks accustomed to city
feasts; but Ardlaugh was not yet without a joint of venison in the
larder and a bottle of wine, maybe two, maybe three, for any guest its
master chose to make welcome. It was 'an ill bird that 'filed his own
nest'"--with more to this effect, which our host tried in vain to
interrupt.

"Then I will lead you to your rooms," he said, turning to us as soon
as she paused to draw breath.

"Indeed, Ardlaugh, you will do nothing of the kind." She ran into the
kitchen, and returned holding high a lighted torch--a grey-haired
woman with traces of past comeliness, overlaid now by an air of worry,
almost of fear. But her manner showed only a defiant pride as she led
us up the uncarpeted stairs, past old portraits sagging and rotting in
their frames, through bleak corridors, where the windows were patched
and the plastered walls discoloured by fungus. Once only she halted.
"It will be a long way to your appartments. A grand house!" She had
faced round on us, and her eyes seemed to ask a question of ours. "I