"It's a mortal dull place, Phoebe," he said, as they emerged from a
passage into the principal hall, which was not yet lighted; "I've heard
tell of a murder that was done here in old times."

"There are murders enough in these times, as to that, Luke," answered
the girl, ascending the staircase, followed by the young man.

She led the way through a great drawing-room, rich in satin and ormolu,
buhl and inlaid cabinets, bronzes, cameos, statuettes, and trinkets,
that glistened in the dusky light; then through a morning room, hung
with proof engravings of valuable pictures; through this into an
ante-chamber, where she stopped, holding the light above her head.

The young man stared about him, open-mouthed and open-eyed.

"It's a rare fine place," he said, "and must have cost a heap of money."

"Look at the pictures on the walls," said Phoebe, glancing at the panels
of the octagonal chamber, which were hung with Claudes and Poussins,
Wouvermans and Cuyps. "I've heard that those alone are worth a fortune.
This is the entrance to my lady's apartments, Miss Graham that was." She
lifted a heavy green cloth curtain which hung across a doorway, and led
the astonished countryman into a fairy-like boudoir, and thence to a
dressing-room, in which the open doors of a wardrobe and a heap of
dresses flung about a sofa showed that it still remained exactly as its
occupants had left it.

"I've got all these things to put away before my lady comes home, Luke;
you might sit down here while I do it, I shan't be long."