“Welcome home, dear Jane.  This is Belfront Castle!”

Jane looked round a spacious courtyard, and saw a square of low dark-looking buildings, with the enormous tower she had seen from the top of the hill rearing its thick head above all at one corner.  They proceeded across the roughly-paved quadrangle, and entered a low door; ascended three steps, and opened another door.  They then found themselves in a large and lofty hall, with fitful flashes of red light flickering on the walls, as the flame of the wood fire on the hearth rose or fell beneath the efforts of a half distinguishable figure, extended at full length on the floor, and puffing the enormous log with a pair of gigantic bellows.  In the palpable obscure, Jane could scarcely make out the persons of the occupants of the apartment; but when the flame burnt up a little more powerfully than usual, she observed the figure of a tall man dressed in black, who shook hands with Reginald, and bowed very coldly and formally to her, when he was introduced as Mr Peeper.  He seemed about fifty or sixty years of age, but very much enfeebled.  He stooped and coughed, and was very infirm in his motions; but when the red glare from the hearth fell upon his eyes, they fixed themselves on Jane with such a piercing expression, that she turned away her face almost in fear.  His hair was snow-white, and yet it was impossible to decide whether he was a man of the years we have stated, with the premature appearance of age, or a person of extraordinary longevity, retaining the vigorous eyes and active spirit of youth.  However it was, Mr Peeper was too harsh and haughty in his approaches, and exacted too much deference from the youthful bride, to be very captivating at first.  He said no welcome to the new-comer, and was stiff and unkind even to the owner of the castle.  Candles were soon brought in, and Jane took the opportunity of looking round.  The individual who had been busy blowing the fire now rose from his humble position, and was presented to the lady as Phil Lorimer.  He bowed and smiled, and was proceeding with a compliment, in which, however, he advanced no further than the summer sun bringing out the roses, when Reginald pushed him out of the hall, with orders to get the luggage brought in from the carriage, and to be back in time for supper.  Phil Lorimer seemed a man of thirty, strongly built, with a sweet voice and friendly smile; but what station he filled in the household—­whether a servant, a visitor, a poor relation, or what he could be, Jane could not make out, either from his manner or the way he was treated.

“Mr Lorimer is very good-natured—­very obliging, to take care of the luggage, I am sure,” said Jane.

“Better that than talking nonsense about roses,” replied Reginald.  “Did you expect us this evening, Mr Peeper?”

“I did, Mr Reginald, and have invited a few of the neighbours to meet you.”

“Who are coming?”

“Sir Bryan De Barreilles, Hasket of Norland, Maulerer of Phascald, and old Dr Howlet.  They will be here soon, so you had better make haste.”