vanished, he drew his rein, and opened the gate--not one of the rusty
ones--he entered the garden, where all was trim and fresh, the shadow
of the house lying across the sward, and preserving the hoar-frost,
which, in the sunshine, was melting into diamond drops on the
lingering China roses.

Without ring or knock, he passed into a narrow, carpetless vestibule,
unadorned except by a beautiful blue Wedgewood vase, and laying down
hat and whip, mounted the bare staircase, long since divested of all
paint or polish. Avoiding the door of the principal room, he opened
another at the side, and stood in a flood of sunshine, pouring in
from the window, which looked over all the roofs of the town, to the
coppices and moorlands of Ormersfield. On the bright fire
sung a kettle, a white cat purred on the hearth, a canary twittered
merrily in the window, and the light smiled on a languishing Dresden
shepherdess and her lover on the mantelpiece, and danced on the
ceiling, reflected from a beautifully chased silver cream-jug--an
inconsistent companion for the homely black teapot and willow-
patterned plates, though the two cups of rare Indian porcelain were
not unworthy of it. The furniture was the same mixture of the
ordinary and the choice, either worn and shabby, or such as would
suit a virtuoso, but the whole arranged with taste and care that made
the effect bright, pleasant, and comfortable. Lord Ormersfield stood
on the hearth-rug waiting. His face was that of one who had learnt
to wait, more considerate than acute, and bearing the stamp both of
toil and suffering, as if grief had taken away all mobility of
expression, and left a stern, thoughtful steadfastness.

Presently a lady entered the room. Her hair was white as snow, and
she could not have seen less than seventy-seven years; but beauty was