After a hurried toilet, he bumped his way downstairs; intercepted the dairyman, from whom he extorted a great draught of milk, and then went into the garden.  How sweet it was, that breath of morning air!  Lubin had just finished mowing the lawn, and the perfume of the cool grass, damp with the night’s dew, seemed to pervade the world.  No one else was stirring; there was nothing to jar his nerves; everything was harmonious, fresh, beautiful, and young.  And the harmony of it all consisted in this, that Austin was fresh, and beautiful, and young himself.

“Well, and how did ye fare at the Court?” asked Lubin, as Austin joined him.  “Was it as fine a place as you reckoned it would be?”

“Oh, Lubin, it was lovely!” cried Austin, enthusiastically.  “I do wish you could see it.  And the garden!  Of course this one’s lovely too, and I love it, but the garden at the Court is simply divine.  It’s on a great scale, you know, and there are huge orchid-houses, and flaming carnations, and stained tulips, and gilded lilies, and a wonderful grass terrace, and—­”

“Ay, ay, I’ve heard tell of all that,” interrupted Lubin.  “But how about the ghosts?  Did you see any o’ them, as you was so anxious about?”

“No—­I didn’t see any; but they’re there all the same,” returned Austin.  “I felt them, you know.  But only in one place; that great room, they say, was a Banqueting Hall once upon a time.  You know, Lubin, I’m going back there before long.  Mr St Aubyn asked me to come again, and I intend to go into that room again to see if I feel anything more.  It was the very queerest thing!  I never felt so strange in my life.  The place seemed actually full of them.  I could feel them all round me, though I couldn’t see a thing.  And the strangest part of it is that I’ve never felt quite the same since.”

“How d’ye mean?” asked Lubin, looking up.

“I don’t know—­but I fancy I may still be surrounded by them in some sort of way,” replied Austin.  “It’s possibly nothing but imagination after all.  However, we shall see.  Now this morning I want to go a long ramp into the country—­as far as the Beacon, if I can.  It’s going to be a splendid day, I’m sure.”

“I’m not,” said Lubin.  “The old goose was dancing for rain on the green last night, and that’s a sure sign of a change.”

“Dancing for rain!  What old goose?” asked Austin, astonished.

“The geese always dance when they want rain,” replied Lubin, “and what the goose asks for God sends.  Did you never hear that before?  It’s a sure fact, that is.  It’ll rain within four-and-twenty hours, you mark my words.”

“I hope it won’t,” said Austin.  “And so your mother keeps geese?”

“Ay, that she does, and breeds ’em, and fattens ’em up against Michaelmas.  And we’ve a fine noise o’ ducks on the pond, too.  They pays their way too, I reckon.”

“A noise o’ ducks?  What, do they quack so loud?”