house where his grandsire's youth had been passed. The little
village-green of Castlewood slopes down towards the river, which is
spanned by an old bridge of a single broad arch, and from this the ground
rises gradually towards the house, grey with many gables and buttresses,
and backed by a darkling wood. An old man sate at the wicket on a stone
bench in front of the great arched entrance to the house, over which the
earl's hatchment was hanging. An old dog was crouched at the man's feet.
Immediately above the ancient sentry at the gate was an open casement
with some homely flowers in the window, from behind which good-humoured
girls' faces were peeping. They were watching the young traveller dressed
in black as he walked up gazing towards the castle, and the ebony
attendant who followed the gentleman's steps also accoutred in mourning.
So was he at the gate in mourning, and the girls when they came out had
black ribbons.

To Harry's surprise, the old man accosted him by his name. "You have had
a nice ride to Hexton, Master Harry, and the sorrel carried you well."

"I think you must be Lockwood," said Harry, with rather a tremulous
voice, holding out his hand to the old man. His grandfather had often
told him of Lockwood, and how he had accompanied the Colonel and the
young Viscount in Marlborough's wars forty years ago. The veteran seemed
puzzled by the mark of affection which Harry extended to him. The old dog
gazed at the new-comer, and then went and put his head between his knees.
"I have heard of you often. How did you know my name?"

"They say I forget most things," says the old man, with a smile; "but I
ain't so bad as that quite. Only this mornin', when you went out, my
darter says, 'Father, do you know why you have a black coat on?' 'In
course I know why I have a black coat,' says I. 'My lord is dead. They