ation
brought Dixon to a halt. He faced round upon the young man, revealing a
face that worked with hardly repressed excitement, and explained that the
furnishing and arrangement had been only completed that day. It had taken
them eight days, and Barclay's men were only just gone.

Tatham frankly expressed his surprise and admiration. The whole gallery
and both of its terminal windows had now been cleared. The famous series
of rose-coloured tapestries, of which Undershaw had seen the first
specimens, had been hung at intervals throughout its length; and from the
stores of the house had been brought out more carpets, more cabinets,
mirrors, pictures, fine eighteenth-century chairs, settees, occasional
tables, and what not. Hastily as it had been done, the brilliance of the
effect was great. There was not, there could not be, the beauty that
comes from old use and habit--from the ordered life of generations moving
among and gradually adapting to itself a number of lovely things. Tatham
brought up amid the surroundings of Duddon was scornfully conscious of
the bric-a-brac element in the show, as he stood contemplating Melrose's
latest performance. Nevertheless a fine taste had presided both at the
original selection of the things shown, and at the arrangement of them in
the stately gallery, which both harmonized and displayed them.

"There's not a thing yo' see, my lord, that hasna been here--i' this
house--for years and years!" said Dixon, pointing a shaky finger at
the cabinets on either side. "There's soom o' them has been i' their
packing-cases ever sin' I can remember, an' the carpets rolled up aw
deep in dust. And there's not a thing been unpacked now i' the house
itsel', for fear o' t' dust, an' Mr. Faversham. The men carried it aw oot
o' that door"--he pointed to the far western end of the gallery--"an'
iverything was doon out o' doors, all t' carpets beaten an' aw, where Mr.
Faversham couldna hear a sound. An' yesterday Muster Melrose and Muster
Faversham--we browt him in his wheeled chair yo' unnerstan'--fixed up a
lot o' things together. We havna nailed doon th' matting yet, for fear
o't' noise. But Muster Faversham says noo he won't mind it."

"Is Mr. Faversham staying on some time?"

"I canno' say, my lord, I'm sure," was the cautious reply. "But they do
say 'at he's not to tak' a journey for a while yet."

Tatham's curiosity was hot within him, but his very dislike of Melrose
restrained him from indulging