which a wooden stair wound to a little garden, not visible in front of the
house, surrounded by a thick grove of evergreens, through which one broad
vista was cut, and that vista was closed by a view of the mausoleum.

I stepped out into the garden,--a patch of sward with a fountain in the
centre, and parterres, now more filled with weeds than flowers. At the
left corner was a tall wooden summer-house or pavilion,--its door wide
open. "Oh, that's where Sir Philip used to study many a long summer's
night," said the steward.

"What! in that damp pavilion?"

"It was a pretty place enough then, sir; but it is very old,--they say as
old as the room you have just left."

"Indeed, I must look at it, then."

The walls of this summer-house had once been painted in the arabesques of
the Renaissance period; but the figures were now scarcely traceable. The
woodwork had started in some places, and the sunbeams stole through the
chinks and played on the floor, which was formed from old tiles quaintly
tessellated and in triangular patterns; similar to those I had observed in
the chimneypiece. The room in the pavilion was large, furnished with old
worm-eaten tables and settles. "It was not only here that Sir Philip
studied, but sometimes in the room above," said the steward.

"How do you get to the room above? Oh, I see; a stair case in the angle."
I ascended the stairs with some caution, for they were crooked and
decayed; and, on entering the room above, comprehended at once why Sir
Philip had favoured it.