ird to that of the
commonplace. I smiled to myself as I thought of my terrors of the past
night, and felt brave enough just then to have faced a thousand ghosts.
In another minute I was out of bed, and had drawn up my blind, and flung
open my window, and was drinking in the sweet peaceful scene that
stretched away before me in long level lines to the edge of a far-off
horizon.

My window was high up and looked out at the front of the hall.
Immediately below me was a semicircular lawn, shut in from the park by
an invisible fence, close shaven, and clumped with baskets of flowers
glowing just now with all the brilliance of late autumn. The main
entrance--a flight of shallow steps, and an Ionic portico, as I
afterwards found--was at one end of the building, and was reached by a
long straight carriage drive, the route of which could be traced across
the park by the thicker growth of trees with which it was fringed. This
park stretched to right and left for a mile either way. In front, it was
bounded, a short half-mile away, by the high road, beyond which were
level wide-stretching meadows, through which the river Adair washed slow
and clear.

But chief of all this morning I wanted to be down among the flowers. I
made haste to wash and dress, taking an occasional peep through the
window as I did so, and trying to entice the birds from their
hiding-places in the ivy. Then I opened my bed-room door, and then, in
view of the great landing outside, I paused. Several doors, all except
mine now closed, gave admittance from this landing to different rooms.
Both landing and stairs were made of oak, black and polished with age.
One broad flight of stairs, with heavy carved banisters, pointed the way
below; a second and narrower flight led to the regions above. As a
matter of course I chose the former, but not till after a minute's
hesitation as to whether I should venture to leave my room at all before
I should be called. But my desire to see the baskets of flowers
prevailed over everything else. I closed my door gently and hurried
down.

I found myself in the entrance-hall of Deepley Walls, into which I had
been ushered on my arrival. There were the two curtained doorways
through which Lady Chillington had come and gone. For the rest, it was a
gloomy place enough, with its flagged floor, and its diamond-paned
windows high up in the semicircular roof. A few rusty full-lengths
graced the walls; the stairs were guarded by two effig