deciding."

"But, at all events, I suppose I must pull down this curious old
room,--the nicest part of the old house!"

Strahan, as he spoke, looked wistfully round at the quaint oak
chimneypiece; the carved ceiling; the well-built solid walls, with the
large mullion casement, opening so pleasantly on the sequestered gardens.
He had ensconced himself in Sir Philip's study, the chamber in which the
once famous mystic, Forman, had found a refuge.

"So cozey a room for a single man!" sighed Strahan. "Near the stables and
dog-kennels, too! But I suppose I must pull it down. I am not bound to
do so legally; it is no condition of the will. But in honour and
gratitude I ought not to disobey poor Sir Philip's positive injunction."

"Of that," said I, gravely, "there cannot be a doubt." Here our
conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Gates, who informed us that dinner
was served in the library. Wine of great age was brought from the long
neglected cellars; Strahan filled and re-filled his glass, and, warmed
into hilarity, began to talk of bringing old college friends around him in
the winter season, and making the roof-tree ring with laughter and song
once more.

Time wore away, and night had long set in, when Strahan at last rose from
the table, his speech thick and his tongue unsteady. We returned to the
study, and I reminded my host of the special object of my visit to
him,--namely, the inspection of Sir Philip's manuscript.

"It is tough reading," said Strahan; "better put it off till tomorrow.