Mrs. Fountain sighed deeply and moved on. Laura, as she mounted the
stairs, looked back at the old hall, its ceiling of creamy stucco, its
panelled walls, and below, the great bare floor of shining oak with
hardly any furniture upon it--a strip of old carpet, a heavy oak table,
and a few battered chairs at long intervals against the panelling. But
the big fire of logs piled upon the hearth filled it all with cheerful
light, and under her indifferent manner, the girl's sense secretly
thrilled with pleasure. She had heard much of "poor Alan's" poverty.
Poverty! As far as his house was concerned, at any rate, it seemed to her
of a very tolerable sort.

* * * * *

In a few minutes Helbeck came downstairs again, and stood absently before
the fire on the hearth. After a while, he sat down beside it in his
accustomed chair--a carved chair of black Westmoreland oak--and began to
read from the book which he had been carrying in his pocket out of doors.
He read with his head bent closely over the pages, because of short
sight; and, as a rule, reading absorbed him so completely that he was
conscious of nothing external while it lasted. To-night, however, he
several times looked up to listen to the sounds overhead, unwonted sounds
in this house, over which, as it often seemed to him, a quiet of
centuries had settled down, like a fine dust or deposit, muffling all its
steps and voices. But there was nothing muffled in the voice overhead
which he caught every now and then, through an open door, escaping, eager
and alive, into the silence; or in the occasional sharp bark of the dog.

"Horrid little wretch!" thought Helbeck. "Denton will loathe it.
Augustina should really have warned me. What shall we do if she and