beating somewhere loudly, mine or another's I could not tell.

A door opened. A rush of warm and gracious air, a benediction of subdued
light, and I found myself bending over the hand of the Countess. I had
been talking some time before I came to the knowledge that I was saying
anything.

Then we went to dinner through the long lit passages, the walls giving
back the merry sound of our voices. Still, strangely enough, no other
guests appeared. But my wonder was hushed by the gladness on the face of
the Countess. We dined in an alcove, screened from the vast dining-room.
The table was set for three. As we came in, the Countess murmured a
name. An old lady bowed to me, and moved stiffly to a seat without a
word. Lucia continued her conversation without a pause, and paid no
further heed to the ancient dame, who took her meal with a single-eyed
absorption upon her plate.

My wonder increased. Could it be that Lucia and I were alone in this
great castle! I cannot tell whether the thought brought me more
happiness or discontent. Clearly, I was the only guest. Was I to remain
so, or would others join us after dinner? My heart beat faint and
tumultuously. At random I answered to Lucia's questionings about my
journey. My slow-moving Northern intelligence began to form questions
which I must ask. Through the laughing charm of my lady's face and the
burning radiance of her eyes, there grew into plainness against the
tapestry the sad, pale face of my mother and her clear, consistent eyes.
I talked--I answered--I listened--all through a humming chaos. For the
teaching of the moorland farm, the ethic of the Sabbath nights lit by a
single candle and sanctified by the chanted psalm and the open Book,
possessed me. It was the domination of the Puritan base, and most