The absurd moderation of the statement irritated the person to whom it
was addressed.

"What I'm thinkin'"--said Mrs. Dixon, impatiently, as she moved to the
window--"is that they'll mappen not get here at all! The watter'll be
over t' road by Grier's mill. And yo' know varra well, it may be runnin'
too fasst to get t' horses through--an' they'd be three pussons inside,
an' luggage at top."

"Aye, they may have to goa back to Pengarth--that's varra possible."

"An' all t' dinner spoilin', an' t' fires wastin'--for nowt." The speaker
stood peering discontentedly into the gloom without: "But you'll not
trouble yoursen, Tammas, I daursay."

"Well, I'm not Godamighty to mak' t' rain gie over," was the man's
cheerful reply, as he took the bellows to the damp wood which lay feebly
crackling and fizzing on the wide hearth. His exertions produced a
spasmodic flame, which sent flickering tongues of light through the wide
spaces and shadows of the hall. Otherwise the deepening gloom of the
October evening was lightened only by the rays of one feebly burning lamp
standing apparently in a corridor or gallery just visible beyond a richly
pillared archway which led from the hall to the interior of the house.
Through this archway could be seen the dim ascending lines of a great
double staircase; while here and there a white carved doorway or cornice
glimmered from the darkness.

A stately Georgian house, built in a rich classical style, and dating
from 1740: so a trained eye would have interpreted the architectural and