I heard her in an excessive surprise.  My grandmother had been esteemed a great beauty in her day and had been sung by the ballad-singers.  Was it possible that my looks could be like hers?  I had not thought about them hitherto any more than my cousin had about his.  It was with almost a sense of relief that I heard my grandfather’s reply.

“The child is well enough,” he said, “but as for being so like you, that she is not, nor ever will have your share of beauty.  As for your spoilt roses I do not see them, nor the dimmed eyes, nor the faded hair.  You were lovely when I saw you first, and you are no less lovely in my sight to-day.”

“In your sight—­at seventy!” my grandmother said; and I could picture to myself the well-pleased expression of her dear face.

As for my Uncle Luke, of him I have but a dim memory, yet it is of something bonny.  To be sure I have his picture in my grandmother’s boudoir to remind me of him, a fair, full-lipped, smiling and merry face, with dark brown hair which would have curled if it were permitted.  His comeliness survived even the hideous fashion of men’s dress of his day, and my memory of him is of one in riding-breeches and a scarlet coat, for I think that must have been how I saw him oftenest.

He used to lift me to his shoulders and let me climb upon his head, and I remember that it seemed very fine to me to survey the world from that eminence.

I could have been no more than six years of age when my Uncle Luke vanished out of my surroundings.

At that time Theobald had not come to be an inmate of Aghadoe, and I noticed things as an over-wise child, accustomed to the society of its elders, will.

I often wondered about it in later years.  I had no memory of a wake and a funeral, and I think if these things had been I should have known.  But there was a period of trouble in which I was packed away to my nursery and the companionship of Maureen Kelly, our old nurse.

When I emerged from that it was to find my grandfather stern and sad, and my grandmother with a scared look and the roses of her cheeks faded.

And for long the shadow lay over Aghadoe.  But in course of time people grew used to it as they will to all things, and my grandfather took snuff and played whist with his cronies, and drank his French claret, and rode to hounds, as he had been used; and my grandmother played on the harp to him of evenings when we were alone, and walked with him and talked to him, and saw to the affairs of her household, as though the machinery of life had not for a period run slow and heavy.

CHAPTER II

THE GHOSTS

We were very old-fashioned at Aghadoe Abbey and satisfied with old-fashioned ways.  There was a great deal of talk about opening up the country, and even the gentry were full of it, but my grandfather would take snuff and look scornful.