were hanging heavily in the western sky, but the clearer heavens shone
all the brighter by the contrast. The mountains lay before him, calm and
immovable in the soft light; and he could see the round outline of his
own hollow, at which his heart throbbed for a minute painfully. But there
was a hidden corner at the side of the cabin, and there Stephen knelt
down to pray earnestly before he went farther on his errand, until, calm
and quiet as the hills, and as the moon which seemed to be gazing
lovingly upon them, he went on with a brave and stedfast spirit to the
master's house.

Botfield Hall was a large, half-timbered farmhouse, with a gabled roof,
part of which was made of thatch and the rest of tiles. It stood quite
alone, at a little distance from the works, on the other side of them to
that where the village was built. The window-casements were framed of
stone; and the outer doors were of thick, solid oak, studded with
large-headed iron nails. The iron ring that served as a rapper on the
back door fell with a loud clang from Stephen's fingers upon the nails,
and startled him with its din, so that he could hardly speak to the
servant who answered his noisy summons. They crossed a kitchen, into
which many doors opened, to a kind of parlour beyond, fitted up with
furniture that looked wonderfully handsome and grand in Stephen's eyes,
and where the master was sitting by a comfortable fire. The impatient
servant pushed him within the door, and closed it behind her, leaving him
standing upon a mat, and shyly stroking his cap round and round, while
the master sat still, and gazed at him steadily with an assumed air of
amazement, though inwardly he was more afraid of the boy than Stephen was
of him. It makes a coward of a man or boy to do anybody an injury.

'Pray, what business brings you here, young Fern?' he asked in a gruff
voice.