windows on all sides were long and many-mullioned; the roof lines
broken up by dormer lights of the same pattern. The apex stones of these
dormers, together with those of the gables, were surmounted by grotesque
figures in rampant, passant, and couchant variety. Tall octagonal and
twisted chimneys thrust themselves high up into the sky, surpassed in
height, however, by some poplars and sycamores at the back, which showed
their gently rocking summits over ridge and parapet. In the corners
of the court polygonal bays, whose surfaces were entirely occupied by
buttresses and windows, broke into the squareness of the enclosure; and
a far-projecting oriel, springing from a fantastic series of mouldings,
overhung the archway of the chief entrance to the house.

As Mr. Swancourt had remarked, he had the freedom of the mansion in
the absence of its owner. Upon a statement of his errand they were all
admitted to the library, and left entirely to themselves. Mr. Swancourt
was soon up to his eyes in the examination of a heap of papers he had
taken from the cabinet described by his correspondent. Stephen and
Elfride had nothing to do but to wander about till her father was ready.

Elfride entered the gallery, and Stephen followed her without seeming to
do so. It was a long sombre apartment, enriched with fittings a century
or so later in style than the walls of the mansion. Pilasters of
Renaissance workmanship supported a cornice from which sprang a curved
ceiling, panelled in the awkward twists and curls of the period. The old
Gothic quarries still remained in the upper portion of the large window
at the end, though they had made way for a more modern form of glazing
elsewhere.

Stephen was at one end of the gallery looking towards Elfride, who stood
in the midst, beginning to feel somewhat depressed by the society of
Luxellian shades of cadaverous complexion fixed by Holbein, Kneller, and
Lely, and seeming to gaze at and through her in a moralizing mood. The
silence, which cast almost a spell upon them, was broken by the sudden
opening of a door at the far end.

Out bounded a pair of little girls, lightly yet warmly dressed. Their
eyes were sparkling; their hair swinging about and around; their red
mouths laughing with unalloyed gladness.

'Ah, Miss Swancourt: dearest Elfie! we heard you. Are you going to stay
here? You are our little mamma, are you not--our big mamma is gone to
London,' said one.

'Let me tiss you,' said t