her arms, she lifted her over the threshold, and set her down in her
husband's house, at the same time uttering a passionate and
outlandish blessing. The Squire stood by, smiling gravely at first;
but when the words of blessing were pronounced, he took off his fine
feathered hat, and bent his head. The girl with the black mantle
stepped onward into the shadow of the dark hall, and kissed the
lady's hand; and that was all the lad could tell to the group that
gathered round him on his return, eager to hear everything, and to
know how much the Squire had given him for his services.

From all I could gather, the Manor-house, at the time of the Squire's
return, was in the most dilapidated state. The stout gray walls
remained firm and entire; but the inner chambers had been used for
all kinds of purposes. The great withdrawing-room had been a barn;
the state tapestry-chamber had held wool, and so on. But, by-and-by,
they were cleared out; and if the Squire had no money to spend on new
furniture, he and his wife had the knack of making the best of the
old. He was no despicable joiner; she had a kind of grace in
whatever she did, and imparted an air of elegant picturesqueness to
whatever she touched. Besides, they had brought many rare things
from the Continent; perhaps I should rather say, things that were
rare in that part of England--carvings, and crosses, and beautiful
pictures. And then, again, wood was plentiful in the Trough of
Bolland, and great log-fires danced and glittered in all the dark,
old rooms, and gave a look of home and comfort to everything.

Why do I tell you all this? I have little to do with the Squire and
Madame Starkey; and yet I dwell upon them, as if I were unwilling to
come to the real people with whom my life was so strangely mixed up.
Madam had been nursed in Ireland by the very woman who lifted her in