s conservatory,
filling the whole square court between the wings at that end. The
corresponding western court was devoted to the roomy portico. Two or
three broad steps mounted to a balcony twenty feet deep and nearly
twice as wide, protected by a lofty roof supported on slender Moorish
columns. Crossing this, one came to the hall-door, likewise Moorish in
arch and ornamentation. Considered room by room and part by part, the
house was good and often beautiful; taken as a whole, it was the
craziest amalgamation of incongruities ever conceived by human brain.

Balder, approaching from the north, trod enjoyingly the silken grass.
No misgiving had he; his uncle would hardly be from home, nor would he
be apt to discredit his nephew's identity. His face had already been
evidence to more than one former knower of his father, and why not
also to his uncle?

The house was more than half a mile in a direct line from the
birch-tree, and presented an imposing appearance; but on drawing near,
the odd architectural discrepancies became noticeable. Side by side
with the prosy Americanism of the northern wing, sprang gracefully the
Moorish columns of the portico; beyond, uprose in massive granite,
quaintly inscribed and carved, and strengthened by heavy pilasters,
the ponderous Egyptian features of the southern portion. The latter
was neither storied nor windowed, and, as Balder conjectured, probably
contained but a single vast room, lighted from within.

Meanwhile there were no signs of an inhabitant, either in the house or
out of it. It wore in parts an air of emptiness and neglect, not
exactly as though gone to seed, but as if little human love and care
had been expended there. The deep-set windows of the brick wing, like
the sunken eyes of an old woman, peered at the visitor with dusky
forlornness. Lonely and stern on the other side stood the Egyptian
pilasters, as though unused to the eye of man; the hieroglyphics along
the cornice intensified the impression of desertion. As the young man
set foot beneath the portico, he laid a hand on one of the slender
pillars, to assure himself that it was real, and not a vision. Cool,
solid marble met his grasp; the building did not vanish in a peal of
thunder, with an echo of demoniac laughter. Yes, all was real!

But the stillness was impressive, and Balder struck the pillar sharply
with his palm, merely for the sake of hearing a noise. There was no
answering sound, so, after a moment's