The woods were full of the yellow leaves of autumn and the wind sighed mournfully in the bare branches as I went on my way to the postern in the wall.  Outside it I turned to the left, and walked for half a mile or so along a grassy road, overhung with trees, till I came to the entrance gates of Brosna.

The lodge was empty, and the gate yielded to a push.  There was an air of neglect about everything that was very sad.  Part of one of the pillars which supported the entrance gate was down.  In the avenue some trees that had fallen last winter lay across the way; no one had troubled to remove them.

I knew there was no one in the house but Captain Cardew’s soldier-servant, Terence Murphy, whose old mother lived in Araglin village.  I did not want to meet Terence; and I had an idea, having heard of the great extent of Brosna—­indeed, it was easy to judge of it from the aspect of the place outside—­that I might slip in somewhere and leave my letter without meeting with him.

So, without going near the hall door, I passed through a little iron gate in the wall at one end of the house, which I found led to an overgrown garden.

The grass in the garden was as high as my waist, and here and there a rose tree, standing up above the tangle, showed a pale autumn rose; and little old-fashioned chrysanthemum bushes bore their clusters of tawny and lilac flowers.  Beyond, I could see a kitchen garden with the apples in the boughs, and, standing up in the midst of it, a projecting part of the house which, to my amazement, was covered with thatch.

I was reassured at the moment by hearing Terence Murphy’s voice shouting at a distance.  It must have been at the other side of the house, in the stable-yard, I judged, and I thought I should be able to deliver my letter before he could by any possibility reach where I was.

There was a glass door leading from the thatched room into the garden, and I found that it stood open.  I noticed that in front of it the grass plot had been cleared and there were flowers in the borders.  Within I found a very pretty and comfortable room arranged with unexpected tidiness.  As I looked about me I remembered having heard that Terence always kept a place in readiness for the return of his master.  All the rest of the place might be in ruin, but this room was pleasant and home-like.

It had once been a woman’s room, I thought, from certain prettinesses, the blue, rose-wreathed carpet on the floor, the ceiling groined under its thatch and painted in blue with a crescent moon and stars in gold, the walls covered with silk set in panels.

But now it was a man’s room, with the pleasant litter of a man’s belongings.  There was a square writing-table in the window, with a wooden chair drawn up in front of it.  There were many pipes, old and new, and whips and hunting-crops; and a gun-case standing by the wall and some crossed weapons on the wall.  I saw a pair of spurs in one corner, and, flung carelessly on the writing-table, as though the owner might return at any moment, there was a glove.