m; just the same
saving prudent ways, and just the same masterful temper, always kept
under in that quiet way of his."

As Ellen Carley showed herself profoundly indifferent to the lights and
shades of Mr. Whitelaw's character, Mrs. Tadman did not pursue the
subject, but with a gentle sigh led the way to another room, and so on
from room to room, till they had explored all that floor of the house.

"There's the attics above; but you won't care to see _them_," she said.
"The shepherd and five other men sleep up there. Stephen thinks it keeps
them steadier sleeping under the same roof with their master; and he's
able to ring them up of a morning, and to know when they go to their
work. It's wearying for me to have to get up and see to their breakfasts,
but I can't trust Martha Holden to do that, or she'd let them eat us out
of house and home. There's no knowing what men like that can eat, and a
side of bacon would go as fast as if you was to melt it down to tallow.
But you must know what they are, Miss Carley, having to manage for your
father."

"Yes," Ellen answered, "I'm used to hard work."

"Ah," murmured the matron, with a sigh, "you'd have plenty of it, if you
came here."

They were at the end of a long passage by this time; a passage leading to
the extreme end of the house, and forming part of that ivy-covered wing
which seemed older than the rest of the building. It was on a lower level
than the other part, and they had descended two or three steps at the
entrance to this passage. The ceilings were lower too, the beams that
supported them more massive, the diamond-paned windows smaller and more
heavily leaded, and there was a faint musty odour as of a place that was
kept shut up and uninhabited.

"There's nothing more to see here," said Mrs. Tadman quickly; "I had
better go back I don't know what brought me here; it was talking, I
suppose, made me come without thinking. There's nothing to show you this
way."

"But there's another room there," Ellen said, pointing to a door just
before them--a heavy clumsily-made door, painted black.

"That room--well, yes; it's a kind of a room, but hasn't been used for
fifty years and more, I've heard say. Stephen keeps seeds there and
such-like. It's always locked, and he keeps the key of it."

There was nothing in this closed room to excite either curiosity or
interest in Ellen's mind, and she was turning away from the door with
perfect indifference, when she started