and my summons resounded hollow and ungenial in my
ear; and the bell, from far away, returned a deep-mouthed and surly
ring, as if it resented being roused from a score years' slumber.

A light-limbed, jolly-looking old fellow, in a barracan jacket and
gaiters, with a smirk of welcome, and a very sharp, red nose, that
seemed to promise good cheer, opened the door with a promptitude that
indicated a hospitable expectation of my arrival.

There was but little light in the hall, and that little lost itself in
darkness in the background. It was very spacious and lofty, with a
gallery running round it, which, when the door was open, was visible at
two or three points. Almost in the dark my new acquaintance led me
across this wide hall into the room destined for my reception. It was
spacious, and wainscoted up to the ceiling. The furniture of this
capacious chamber was old-fashioned and clumsy. There were curtains
still to the windows, and a piece of Turkey carpet lay upon the floor;
those windows were two in number, looking out, through the trunks of the
trees close to the house, upon the lake. It needed all the fire, and all
the pleasant associations of my entertainer's red nose, to light up this
melancholy chamber. A door at its farther end admitted to the room that
was prepared for my sleeping apartment. It was wainscoted, like the
other. It had a four-post bed, with heavy tapestry curtains, and in
other respects was furnished in the same old-world and ponderous style
as the other room. Its window, like those of that apartment, looked out
upon the lake.

Sombre and sad as these rooms were, they were yet scrupulously clean. I
had nothing to complain of; but the effect was rather dispiriting.
Having given some directions about supper--a pleasant incident to look
forward to--and made a rapid toilet, I called on my friend with the
gaiters and red nose (Tom Wyndsour), whose occupation was that of a
"bailiff," or under-steward, of the property, to accompany me, as we had
still an hour or so of sun and twilight, in a walk over the grounds.

It was a sweet autumn evening, and my guide, a hardy old fellow, strode
at a pace that tasked me to keep up with.

Among clumps of trees at the northern boundary of the demesne we lighted
upon the little antique parish church. I was looking down upon it, from
an eminence, and the park-wall interposed; but a little way down was a
stile affording access to the road, and by this we approach