ds.
By no effort of the imagination could the inhabited part of the building
be supposed to be the abode of prosperous people. All was desolation and
decay, without picturesqueness. Even the aspect of the grounds about it,
which might once have lent their aid as a setting to the picture, seemed
now only to accentuate the fallen fortunes of the house. Every acre of
the ground about it, once of some extent and beautifully wooded, had
been sold piecemeal--the greater part for brickfields. On the side they
were approaching there seemed no redeeming feature in the dismal scene.
No; not likely to be spacious reception-rooms, nor offices for an army
of ancient retainers there! Courtesy itself was dumb!

"The Verschoyles have not much left to be proud of, you see, Mr.
Meredith. We are not invaded by picnic parties and artists in search of
the picturesque; but you see the worst of it from this side."

At that moment the figure of a man was seen emerging from some side
entrance, and hurriedly making his way towards the ruins, in an opposite
direction from that whence they were approaching.

"Laurence!"--hurriedly calling out, as he seemed to take no heed: "A
friend to see you."

He turned; seemed to hesitate a moment; then came slowly towards them.
As he drew nearer, and recognised who the visitor was, he hastened his
steps, his whole face brightening. "Meredith!" he ejaculated, in a tone
of relief. "Where have you sprung from? How are you, old fellow? Quite
an age since I saw you last."

[Illustration: "WHERE HAVE YOU SPRUNG FROM?"]

Allan Meredith grasped the hand extended towards him, all the more
heartily, perhaps, because it was the hand of Miss Verschoyle's brother,
as he explained, "I was at the junction, and being so near, thought I
would look you up."

"Glad to see you, old fellow. You know this is my sister?"

"Yes; Miss Verschoyle was good enough to show me the way."

She turned to leave them with the words: "Dinner will be ready in an
hour, Laurence."

"All right!"

Meredith had time now to notice that there was the same expression of
dread in the brother's face he had seen in the sister's, but with a
difference. In her face it was simply fear; in his it was this and
something worse. Unlike his sister, looking straight at you in her
trouble, his eyes were either downcast or averted: shifting uneasily
from one object to another. The whole man was changed--it seemed
demoralized--since Meredith had last see