and stand wonder-struck at the
beauty of the scene, till he forgot in the glories of nature the
deficiencies of art. Below, and not far away, flowed the silvery Wye,
most charming of English streams, winding tortuously through fertile
meadows and wooded copses; farther off lay fruitful vales and rolling
hills; while in the distance the prospect was bounded by the giant
forms of the Welsh mountains.

At the moment when this story opens these beauties were but faintly
visible through the fast-fading twilight of a summer evening; the
shadows were rapidly deepening; and the only signs of life about the
place appeared where from some of the windows at the eastern end
faint rays of light stole out into the gloom.

The interior of the castle corresponded with the exterior in
magnificence and in ruin--in its picturesque commingling of splendor
and decay. The hall was hung with arms and armor of past generations,
and ornamented with stags' heads, antlers, and other trophies of the
chase; but rust, and mould, and dust covered them all. Throughout the
house a large number of rooms were empty, and the whole western end
was unfurnished. In the furnished rooms at the eastern end every
thing belonged to a past generation, and all the massive and
antiquated furniture bore painful marks of poverty and neglect. Time
was every where asserting his power, and nowhere was any resistance
made to his ravages. Some comfort, however, was still to be found in
the old place. There were rooms which were as yet free from the
general touch of desolation. Among these was the dining-room, where
at this time the heavy curtains were drawn, the lamps shone out
cheerily, and, early June though it was, a bright wood-fire blazed on
the ample hearth, lighting up with a ruddy glow the heavy panelings
and the time-worn tapestries. Dinner was just over, the dessert was
on the table, and two gentlemen were sitting over their wine--though
this is to be taken rather in a figurative sense, for their
conversation was so engrossing as to make them oblivious of even the
charms of the old ancestral port of rare vintage which Lord Chetwynde
had produced to do honor to his guest. Nor is this to be wondered at.
Friends of boyhood and early manhood, sharers long ago in each
other's hopes and aspirations, they had parted last when youth and
ambition were both at their height. Now, after the lapse of years,
wayworn and weary from the strife, they had met again to recount ho