tower at the eastward end of the house.
It had been almost in ruins at one time, but Colonel Ogilvie's father
had restored it, and, with a considerable amount of skill, had
connected it with the more modern part of the house by a stone bridge
on a single arch. The whole thing was excellently contrived; the
archway lent a frame to one of the most beautiful parts of the garden;
and the tower, which was entered by a strong oak door from the bridge,
now contained three curious, romantic-looking rooms, with quaint,
uneven walls six feet thick, deep, narrow windows, and heavy oak
ceilings. The largest of the rooms to which admittance was gained by
the oak door was Mrs. Ogilvie's sitting-room. She had a curious love
of being alone for hours at a time, and she enjoyed the sense of
isolation which was afforded her by being cut off from the rest of the
building by the stone bridge on its high arch. Here she would spend
whole days by herself, reading or writing. Above this room, which was
full of her own particular possessions, was a smaller apartment
containing a valuable library of philosophical works. Here were
muniment-chests, and the large writing-table where she wrote all the
business letters relating to the estate; and here it was that she was
wont to see her steward and her agent from time to time. No one but
Mrs. Ogilvie and her son ever entered the room without some special
reason, and it was too far away from the rest of the house for casual
visitors to intrude themselves. The short passage, within the more
modern house, which led to the bridge was reached by a door hung with a
leather curtain securely arranged to prevent draughts, and no one ever
lifted this curtain except those who had a right to the rooms beyond.

To-night, however, the house was open to all comers, and it afforded no
surprise to Captain Ogilvie and his companion, when they had quitted
the corridor and the reception-rooms, and had left the guests and
servants behind them, to find a man's figure before them in the short
passage leading to the leather-covered door.

'Who 's that, do you know?' said Peter, when they had passed under the
curtain and were crossing the bridge.

'I have no idea,' said Jane; 'some stranger, I suppose, whom some one
has brought.'

'They don't seem to be looking after him very well,' said Peter,
'leaving him to prowl about alone and get lost in a great barrack like
this. I don't suppose I ought to have asked him