of roses, draped the sides of the deep embrasured window-nook whence two wide latticed doors opened outwards to a smooth terrace bordered with flowers, where two gardeners were busy rolling the rich velvety turf,—­and beyond it stretched a great lawn shaded with ancient oaks and elms that must have seen the days of Henry VII.  The prospect was fair and soothing to the eyes, and Walden. gazing at it, gave a little involuntary sigh of pleasure.

“This is beautiful!” he said, speaking more to himself than to anyone—­“Perfectly beautiful!”

“It is so, sir,” agreed Mrs. Spruce, with an air of comfortably placid conviction; “There’s no doubt about it—­it’s as beautiful a room as could be made for a queen, though I say it—­but whether our new lady will like it, is quite another question.  You see, sir, this room was always kept locked in the Squire’s time, and so was all the other rooms as was got ready for the wife as never lived to use them.  The Squire wouldn’t let a soul inside the doors, not even his daughter.  And now, sir, will you please read the letter I got this morning, which as you will notice, is quite nice-like and kindly, more than the other—­onny when the boxes came I was a bit upset.  You see the letter was registered and had the keys inside it all right.”

Walden took the missive in reluctant silence.  The same thick notepaper, odorous with crushed violets—­the same bold, dashing handwriting he had seen before, but the matter expressed in it was worded somehow in a totally different tone to that of the previous letter from the same hand.

“Dear Mrs. Spruce,” it ran:  “I enclose the keys of my boxes which I am sending in advance, as I never travel with luggage.  Kindly unpack all the contents and arrange them in the wardrobes and presses of my mother’s rooms.  If I remember rightly, these rooms have never been used, hut I intend to take them for myself now, so please have everything prepared.  I have received your letter in which you say there is some difficulty in getting good servants at so short a notice.  I quite understand this, and am sure you. will arrange for the best.  Should everything not be quite satisfactory, we can make alterations when I come.  I expect to arrive home in time for afternoon tea.  Maryllia Vancourt.”

Walden folded up the letter and gave it back to its owner.

“Well, so far, you have nothing to complain of, Mrs. Spruce,” he said, with a little smile; “The lady is evidently prepared to excuse any deficiencies arising from the hurry of your preparations.”

“Yes, sir, that may be,” answered Mrs. Spruce; “but if so be you saw what I’ve seen you mightn’t take it so easily.  Now, sir, if you’ll follow me, you’ll be able to judge of the quandary we was in till we got our senses back.”

Beginning to be vaguely amused and declining to speculate as to the ‘quandary’ which according to the good woman had resulted in a species of lunacy, Walden followed as he was told, and slowly ascended the broad staircase, one of the finest specimens of Tudor work in all England, with its richly turned balustrades and grotesquely carved headpieces, but as he reached the upper landing, he halted abruptly, seeing through an open door mysterious glimmerings of satins and laces, to which he was entirely unaccustomed.