“Thank the Lord and His goodness, Passon Walden, here you are at last!  I’d made up my mind the silly fool of a Spruce had brought me the wrong message;—­a good meanin’ man, but weak in the upper storey, ’cept where trees is concerned and clearing away brushwood, when I’d be bold to say he’s as handy as they make ’em—­but do, for mercy’s sake, Passon, step inside and see how we’ve got on, for it’s not so bad as it might have been, an’ I’ve seen worse done at a few days’ notice than even myself with hired hands on a suddint could ever do.  Step in, sir, step in!—­we’re leavin’ the door open to let the sun in a bit to warm the hall, for the old stained glass do but filter it through at its best; not but that we ain’t had a fire in it night and mornin’ ever since we had Miss Vancourt’s letter.”

Walden made no attempt to stem the flow of the worthy woman’s discourse.  From old experience, he knew that to be an impossible task.  So he stepped in as he was bidden, and looked round the grand old hall, decorated with ancient armour, frayed banners and worn scutcheons, feeling regretfully that perhaps he was looking at it so for the last time.  No one more than he had appreciated the simple dignity of its old-world style, or had more correctly estimated the priceless value of the antique oak panelling that covered its walls.  He loved the great ingle-nook, set deep back as it were, in the very bosom of the house, with its high and elaborately carved benches on each side, and its massive armorial emblems wrought in black oak, picked out with tarnished gold, crimson and azure,—­he appreciated every small gleam and narrow shaft of colour reflected by the strong sun through the deeply-tinted lozenge panes of glass that filled the lofty oriel windows on either side;—­and the stuffed knight-in-armour, a model figure ‘clad in complete steel,’ of the fourteenth century, which stood, holding a spear in its gauntleted hand near the doorway leading to the various reception rooms, was almost a personal friend.  Mrs. Spruce, happily unconscious of the deepening melancholy which had begun to tinge his thoughts, led the way through the hall, still garrulously chirping.

“We’ve cleaned up wonderfully, considerin’—­and it was just the Lord’s providence that at Riversford I found a decent butler and footman what had jes’ got the sack from Sir Morton Pippitt’s and were lookin’ for a place temp’ry, preferring London later, so I persuaded both of ’em to come and try service with a lady for once, instead of with a fussy old ancient, who turns red and blue in the face if he’s kept waitin’ ’arf a second—­and I picked up with a gel what the footman was engaged to, and that’ll keep him a fixture,—­ and I found the butler had a hi on a young woman at the public-house ’ere,—­so that’s what you may call an ‘hattraction,’ and then I got two more ‘andy gels which was jes’ goin’ off to see about Mrs. Leveson’s place, and when I told ’em that there the sugar