spent her latter years there.

The house was low, stone built, and roofed with rough slate, with a
narrow verandah in front, and creepers in bud covering it. Then came
a terrace just wide enough for a carriage to drive up; and below,
flower-beds bordered with stones found what vantage ground they could
between the steep slopes of grass that led almost precipitously down
to the stream, where the ground rose equally rapidly on the other
side. Moss, ivy, rhododendrons, primroses, anemones, and the promise
of ferns were there, and the adjacent beds had their full share of
hepaticas and all the early daffodil kinds. Behind and on the
southern side, lay the kitchen garden, also a succession of steps,
and beyond as the ravine widened were small meadows, each with a big
stone in the midst. The gulley, (or goyle) narrowed as it rose, and
there was a disused limestone quarry, all wreathed over with creeping
plants, a birch tree growing up all white and silvery in the middle,
and above the house and garden was wood, not of fine trees, and
interspersed with rocks, but giving shade and shelter. The opposite
side had likewise fields below, with one grey farm house peeping in
sight, and red cattle feeding in one, and above the same rocky
woodland, meeting the other at the quarry; and then after a little
cascade had tumbled down from the steeper ground, giving place to the
heathery peaty moor, which ended, more than two miles off in a torr
like a small sphinx. This could not be seen from Magdalen's
territory, but from the highest walk in her kitchen garden, she could
see the square tower of Arnscombe, her parish church; and on a clear
day, the glittering water of Rockstone bay.

To Magdalen it was a delightful view, and delightful too had been the
arranging of her house, and preparing for her sisters. All the