Old Mrs. Yates had left the railroad station two miles back, and was walking wearily along the high road toward the village, which lay, as it were, at the feet of Houghton Castle, like a spaniel crouching at the foot of its mistress. At the station and all along the road she had observed an unusual commotion. Carriages in an unprecedented number were waiting for special trains, which came in more than once that day for Houghton Castle.
All the vehicles in the neighborhood were in motion, dashing to and from the village inns, the castle, and a neighboring town, where accommodations for a great access of people could be obtained.
Hannah Yates was more than once nearly run over and driven back to the banks of the highway by those flying vehicles, where she stood half-terrified, half-curious, looking after them in wistful astonishment.
What could this tumultuous movement mean? Was it a wedding—but of whom? A funeral—the old countess?
No, no! Destiny could not be so cruel. Besides, there was no such eager driving or smiling faces when the head of that castle was taken from its broad portals to the family vault. It must be some festival, and she was yet in time.
At an abrupt curve of the road the old woman came suddenly upon a full view of the castle. It was all ablaze with lights, and rose up from the embosoming trees like some enchanted palace upon which a tempest of stars had rained down in all their heavenly brightness. The broad façade which connected the tower was flooded with noonday light, and she could discover groups of people moving to and fro on the stone terrace in front, rendered so small by the distance that they seemed unreal and fairy-like. Down to the verge of the park and upward, curving through the woods, she could trace the chestnut avenue by wreaths of colored lanterns that blazed from tree to tree like mammoth jewels chaining them together. Now and then a carriage broke to view, sweeping along the macadamized avenue, clearly revealed by the light that fell around it.
Never in her life had the old woman seen such splendid commotion about that stately building, yet she could remember many a festive scene in its old walls, when crowned princes had been entertained there with a degree of splendor scarcely exceeded in their own palaces.
As the old woman stood gazing upon this scene, a countryman, passing along the highway, paused near her to get a sight of the castle.
"What is going on up yonder?" inquired the woman, drawing toward him and speaking in his own broad dialect.
"What is't at yon castle? An' who mon you be that donna know that the oud lady up at Houghton is giving a grand blow-out to her gran'child, Lord Hope's daughter, an' to Lady Hope, as people thought she would never abide in her sight?"