ne is not very well," I said; "and I cannot venture to ask you
into the house. But you will be welcome, I am sure, to walk round the
grounds, and to look at the ruins of the Abbey."

He thanked me, and accepted the invitation. I find no great difficulty
in describing him, generally. He was elderly, fat and cheerful;
buttoned up in a long black frockcoat, and presenting that closely
shaven face and that inveterate expression of watchful humility about
the eyes, which we all associate with the reverend personality of a
priest.

To my surprise, he seemed, in some degree at least, to know his way
about the place. He made straight for the dreary little lake which I
have already mentioned, and stood looking at it with an interest which
was so incomprehensible to me, that I own I watched him.

He ascended the slope of the moorland, and entered the gate which led
to the grounds. All that the gardeners had done to make the place
attractive failed to claim his attention. He walked past lawns, shrubs,
and flower-beds, and only stopped at an old stone fountain, which
tradition declared to have been one of the ornaments of the garden
in the time of the monks. Having carefully examined this relic of
antiquity, he took a sheet of paper from his pocket, and consulted it
attentively. It might have been a plan of the house and grounds, or it
might not--I can only report that he took the path which led him, by the
shortest way, to the ruined Abbey church.

As he entered the roofless inclosure, he reverently removed his hat. It
was impossible for me to follow him any further, without exposing
myself to the risk of discovery. I sat down on one of the fallen stones,
waiting to see him again. It must have been at least half an hour before
he appeared. He thanked me for my kindness, as composedly as if he had
quite expected to find me in the place that I occupied.

"I have been deeply interested in all that I have seen," he said. "May I
venture to ask, what is perhaps an indiscreet question on the part of a
stranger?"

I ventured, on my side, to inquire what the question might be.

"Mr. Romayne is indeed fortunate," he resumed, "in the possession of
this beautiful place. He is a young man, I think?"

"Yes."

"Is he married?"

"No."

"Excuse my curiosity. The owner of Vange Abbey is an interesting person
to all good antiquaries like myself. Many thanks again. Good-day."

His pony-chaise took him away. His last look rested--not on