lowering chestnuts, had been stubbed up
remorselessly by that economical agriculturist; and he was now the proud
possessor of one of the ugliest and most profitable farms in Hampshire.

In front of the gray-stone house the sheep browsed up to the parlour
windows, and on both sides of the ill-kept carriage-drive leading from
the white gate that opened into the meadow to the door of Mr. Whitelaw's
abode. No sweet-scented woodbine or pale monthly roses beautified the
front of the house in spring or summer time. The neglected ivy had
overgrown one end of the long stone building and crept almost to the
ponderous old chimneys; and this decoration, which had come of itself,
was the only spot of greenery about the place. Five tall poplars grew in
a row about a hundred yards from the front windows; these, strange to
say, Mr. Whitelaw had suffered to remain. They served to add a little
extra gloom to the settled grimness of the place, and perhaps harmonised
with his tastes.

Within Wyncomb Farmhouse was no more attractive than without. The rooms
were low and dark; the windows, made obscure by means of heavy woodwork
and common glass, let in what light they did admit with a grudging air,
and seemed to frown upon the inmates of the chamber they were supposed to
beautify. There were all manner of gloomy passages, and unexpected
flights of half-a-dozen stairs or so, in queer angles of the house, and
there was a prevailing darkness everywhere; for the Whitelaws of departed
generations, objecting to the window tax, had blocked up every casement
that it was possible to block up; and the stranger exploring Wyncomb
Farmhouse was always coming upon those blank plastered windows, which had
an unpleasant ghostly aspect, and set him longing for a fireman's hatchet
to hew them open and let in the light of day.

The furniture was of the oldest, black with age, worm-eaten, ponderous;
queer old four-post bedsteads, with dingy hangings of greenish brown or
yellowish green, from which every vestige of the original hue had faded
long ago; clumsy bureaus, and stiff high-backed chairs with thick legs
and gouty feet, heavy to move and uncomfortable to sit upon. The house
was clean enough, and the bare floors of the numerous bed-chambers, which
were only enlivened here and there with small strips or bands of Dutch
carpet, sent up a homely odour of soft soap; for Mrs. Tadman took a
fierce delight in cleaning, and the solitary household drudge who toiled