ghter. In
fact, they stood on the borderland of that feudal retainership which
was being rapidly extinguished. The estate, carved out of the great
Sheffield property, was sufficient to maintain the owner in the
dignities of an English gentleman, and to portion off the daughters,
provided that the superfluous sons shifted for themselves, as Richard
had hitherto done. The house had been ruined in the time of the Wars
of the Roses, and rebuilt in the later fashion, with a friendly-looking
front, containing two large windows, and a porch projecting between
them. The hall reached to the top of the house, and had a waggon
ceiling, with mastiffs alternating with roses on portcullises at the
intersections of the timbers. This was the family sitting and dining
room, and had a huge chimney never devoid of a wood fire. One end had
a buttery-hatch communicating with the kitchen and offices; at the
other was a small room, sacred to the master of the house, niched under
the broad staircase that led to the upper rooms, which opened on a
gallery running round three sides of the hall.

Outside, on the southern side of the house, was a garden of potherbs,
with the green walks edged by a few bright flowers for beau-pots and
posies. This had stone walls separating it from the paddock, which
sloped down to the river, and was a good deal broken by ivy-covered
rocks. Adjoining the stables were farm buildings and barns, for there
were several fields for tillage along the river-side, and the mill and
two more farms were the property of the Bridgefield squire, so that the
inheritance was a very fair one, wedged in, as it were, between the
river and the great Chase of Sheffield, up whose stately avenue the
riding party looked as they crossed the bridge, Richard having become
more silent than ever as he came among the familiar rocks and trees of
his boyhood, and knew he should not meet that hearty welcome from his
brother which had never hitherto failed to greet his return. The house
had that strange air of forlornness which seems to proclaim sorrow
within. The great court doors stood open, and a big, rough deer-hound,
at the sound of the approaching hoofs, rose slowly up, and began a
series of long, deep-mouthed barks, with pauses between, sounding like
a knell. One or two men and maids ran out at the sound, and as the
travellers rode up to the horse-block, an old gray-bearded serving-man
came stumbling forth with "Oh! Master Diccon,