It was a long ride, and it was nearly dusk when at last they arrived at Cromarty Manor.
An old servant came out from the Porter’s Lodge to open the high iron gates for them.
He gave them a warm greeting, which seemed a heart-felt welcome, and not merely the speech of a paid dependant, and then they drove on toward the house.
The whole effect was so beautiful that it almost took Patty’s breath away. It was not a bit like Herenden Hall, it was more like an old feudal castle. The picturesque house was of gray stone, with towers and turrets almost entirely covered with ivy. From the ivy the birds flew in and out, and the darkness of the surrounding trees and tall shrubbery gave the place a weird and fairly mysterious appearance.
“You feel the charm of it, don’t you?” said Mrs. Hartley, kindly, as she looked at Patty’s rapt face and serious eyes.
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, softly; “I can’t explain it, but it casts a spell over me. Oh, I don’t wonder you love it!”
But the darkness of the outer world was soon dispelled by a broad gleam of light, as the great front doors were thrown open. An old, gray-haired butler stood on the threshold, and greeted them with rather pompous respect and punctilious deference. The interior was quite in keeping with the outside view of the house. But though the old carved rafters and wainscoting were dark and heavy, cheerful lamps were in abundance, and in the halls and drawing-rooms, wax candles were lighted also.
At the first view on entering there seemed to be an interminable vista of rooms, that opened one from another; this was partly the effect of the elaborate old architecture, and partly because of many long mirrors in various positions.
The furniture, tapestries and ornaments were all of an epoch two centuries back, and the whole picture fascinated Patty beyond all words.
“It’s a wonderful place,” she said at last; “and after a week or two, I’m going to examine it in detail. But at first I shall be satisfied just to bask in its atmosphere.”