nce which holds some taste of mystery even for the oldest
campaigner; but I have never in my life received such a shock as this
building gave me--naked, unlit, presented to me out of a darkness
in which I had imagined a steep mountain scaur dotted with dwarfed
trees--a sudden abomination of desolation standing, like the
prophet's, where it ought not. No light showed on the side where we
stood--the side over the ravine; only one pointed turret stood out
against the faint moonlight glow in the upper sky: but feeling our way
around the gaunt side of the building, we came to a back court-yard
and two windows lit. Our host whistled, and helped me to dismount.

In an angle of the court a creaking door opened. A woman's voice
cried, "That will be be you, Ardlaugh, and none too early! The
minister--"

She broke off, catching sight of us. Our host stepped hastily to the
door and began a whispered conversation. We could hear that she
was protesting, and began to feel awkward enough. But whatever her
objections were, her master cut them short.

"Come in, sirs," he invited us: "I warned you that the fare would be
hard, but I repeat that you are welcome."

To our surprise and, I must own, our amusement, the woman caught up
his words with new protestations, uttered this time at the top of her
voice.

"The fare hard? Well, it might not please folks accustomed to city
feasts; but Ardlaugh was not yet without a joint of venison in the
larder and a bottle of wine, maybe two, maybe three, for any guest its
master chose to make welcome. It was 'an ill bird that 'filed his own
nest'"--with more to this effect, which our host tried in vain to
interrupt.

"Then I will lead you to your rooms," he said, turning to us as soon
as she paused to draw breath.

"Indeed, Ardlaugh, you will do nothing of the kind." She ran into the
kitchen, and returned holding high a lighted torch--a grey-haired
woman with traces of past comeliness, overlaid now by an air of worry,
almost of fear. But her manner showed only a defiant pride as she led
us up the uncarpeted stairs, past old portraits sagging and rotting in
their frames, through bleak corridors, where the windows were patched
and the plastered walls discoloured by fungus. Once only she halted.
"It will be a long way to your appartments. A grand house!" She had
faced round on us, and her eyes seemed to ask a question of ours. "I
have known it filled," she added--"filled with guests, and the
drink