The distance between Red Hall and Glenshee Castle was not more than four
miles; the estates of both proprietors lying, in fact, together. The
day was calm, mild, and breathed of the fragrant and opening odors of
spring. Sir Thomas had nearly measured half the distance at a very slow
pace, for, in truth, he was then silently rehearsing his part in the
interview which was about to take place between him and his noble
friend. The day, though calm, as we said, was nevertheless without
sunshine, and, consequently, that joyous and exhilarating spirit of
warmth and light which the vernal sun floods down upon all nature,
rendering earth and air choral with music, was not felt so powerfully.
On the contrary, the silence and gloom were somewhat unusual,
considering the mildness which prevailed. Every one, however,
has experienced the influence of such days--an influence which,
notwithstanding the calm and genial character of the day itself, is felt
to be depressing, and at variance with cheerfulness and good spirits.

Be this as it may, Sir Thomas was proceeding leisurely along, when a
turn of the road brought him at once upon the brow of the small valley
from which the residence of the Cullamore family had its name--Glenshee,
or, in English, the Glen of the Fairies. Its sides were wild, abrupt,
and precipitous, and partially covered with copse-wood, as was the
little brawling stream which ran through it, and of which the eye of
the spectator could only catch occasional glimpses from among the hazel,
dogberry, and white thorn, with which it was here and there covered.
In the bottom, there was a small, but beautiful green carpet, nearly,
if not altogether circular, about a hundred yards in diameter, in the
centre of which stood one of those fairy rings that gave its name
and character to the glen. The place was, at all times, wild, and so
solitary that, after dusk, few persons in the neighborhood wished to
pass it alone. On the day in question, its appearance was still and