It is the end of the first week in January—bleak, black January! Outside Looton the snow is falling lightly but persistently; already it is a foot deep in the park. It is a bitterly cold, dreary, dark evening. Not a single living creature is abroad that can possibly find shelter. What a night for the homeless—what a night for the miserable starving birds!
Inside Looton the prospect is much more cheerful. A huge log fire is roaring up the chimney of the great hall, lighting up the frames of dingy-looking portraits, reflecting itself in more than one dinted steel cuirass and battered casque, and generally illuminating the arms and armour of many a dead and gone Fairfax.
A large mastiff lies luxuriously at full length on a tiger-skin before the fire; but of other living inmates the room is empty. The letter-box stands on the table; no one is looking—let us have a peep. Here is an epistle from Mrs. Mayhew to Miss Saville, which will doubtless tell us all the family news.
“Looton, Jan. 5th.
“My dear Miss Saville,
“I am quite ashamed of myself for never having answered your kind New Year’s letter. But you have no idea what a whirl we have been living in since Christmas. I never seem to have a moment to myself.
“Nearly all the party have gone out skating to-day—an amusement not at all in my line—so at last I have an hour to devote to my many indignant correspondents.
“You have heard from Alice frequently, of course, and I am sure she has told you how much we have missed you, and how disappointed she and Regy have been at your absence. It is really too bad of your old enemy, rheumatism, to seize on you just at this time.
“We have had such a Christmas! Reginald and Alice determined that, as it was the first they had ever spent together, they would celebrate the occasion properly. There was a dinner to the tenantry, to whom Maurice was duly presented in the character of the heir. Theatricals and a ball entertained the grandees; nor were the poor forgotten—beef, coals, warm clothes, and money were lavishly bestowed on every side. The master and mistress of Looton are so happy themselves, they do their very best to spread that rather scarce commodity in all directions, and share it with rich and poor, as far as money and kind words and deeds can go.
“You will like to hear all about Alice and Regy from a third party, especially as I know how reticent Alice is about herself—her letters are probably filled with Maurice and Reginald, Reginald and Maurice.