Moat Grange, and lo! the name was no misnomer. The moat
was Deep, indeed.

All the same, it was like coming out of a heated room, with many people
therein, into the silence and chill of the winter stars, to get one's
head outside that abominable house of the Grange. How good to pass by
the lily clumps, and feel one's feet on green grass again! It seemed
to me that even the dull and sullen moat could be crossed, if you only
took it determinedly enough. We had seen Jeremy come over and return,
and so surely could we, fleeing (if need were) for our lives.

But there was no need at present. Miss Orrin had thrown a white shawl
about her head and shoulders, and drawn a pair of tight silk lacy
"mits" over her bony wrists. She made straight for the drawbridge,
walking at least ten yards in front of us--apparently that she might
get the first word with the fine young man in clerical attire who stood
waiting on the further bank.

"I am sorry to have kept you, sir," she said, in a voice which I could
not have believed to be hers, had I not seen her lips moving as we
arrived; "I will let down the bridge in a moment. Mr. Stennis has been
entertaining some relatives of his own, and did not wish to be
disturbed."

"I hope that I am not intruding!" called out the young man from the
farther bank. "I can easily look in again. It will not be the least
trouble, I assure you!"

"Not for the world," cried the old woman hastily; "in a moment the
bridge will be down."

And she rushed to the little wheelhouse, to let go the chain with a
relieving motion of her foot. And immediately the ponderous affair
came clanking to the ground, locking into the pawls at the other side
with the pleasant _sloop_ of well-oiled machinery.

Then it was our turn to be introduced. Mr. Ablethorpe came across the
wood with the firm tread of an athlete. He held out his hand first to
Miss Orrin, who bowed over it, as if she would have loved to raise it
reverently to her lips.

Then he shook hands with Mr. Stennis, who took the matter cavalierly
enough, immediately turning on his heel and going off in the direction
of his weaving-room, which had an additional entrance from the front.
The young curate was apparently well enough accustomed to such
treatment, and thought nothing of it, but Miss Orrin bit her thin lips
and looked daggers at the bowed head of the old weaver-farmer as he
trudged away.

"Halloo, Joseph Yarrow," said Mr. Ablethorpe ligh