'I should like to know why Lord Cadurcis lives abroad?' said Venetia, musingly.
'There are many reasons why persons may choose to quit their native country, and dwell in another, my love,' said Lady Annabel, very quietly; 'some change the climate for their health.'
'Did Lord Cadurcis, mamma?' asked Venetia.
'I do not know Lord Cadurcis, dear, or anything of him, except that he is a very old man, and has no family.'
At this moment there was a sound of bars and bolts withdrawn, and the falling of a chain, and at length the massy door slowly opened, and the old man appeared and beckoned to them to enter.
''Tis eight years, come Martinmas, since I opened this door,' said the old man, 'and it sticks a bit. You must walk about by yourselves, for I have no breath, and my mistress is bedridden. There, straight down the cloister, you can't miss your way; there is not much to see.'
The interior of the abbey formed a quadrangle, surrounded by the cloisters, and in this inner court was a curious fountain, carved with exquisite skill by some gothic artist in one of those capricious moods of sportive invention that produced those grotesque medleys for which the feudal sculptor was celebrated. Not a sound was heard except the fall of the fountain and the light echoes that its voice called up.
The staircase led Lady Annabel and her party through several small rooms, scantily garnished with ancient furniture, in some of which were portraits of the family, until they at length entered a noble saloon, once the refectory of the abbey, and not deficient in splendour, though sadly soiled and worm-eaten. It was hung with tapestry representing the Cartoons of Raffael, and their still vivid colours contrasted with the faded hangings and the dingy damask of the chairs and sofas. A mass of Cromwellian armour was huddled together in a corner of a long monkish gallery, with a standard, encrusted with dust, and a couple of old drums, one broken. From one of the windows they had a good view of the old walled garden, which did not tempt them to enter it; it was a wilderness, the walks no longer distinguishable from the rank vegetation of the once cultivated lawns; the terraces choked up with the unchecked shrubberies; and here and there a leaden statue, a goddess or a satyr, prostrate, and covered with moss and lichen.
'It makes me melancholy,' said Lady Annabel; 'let us return.'
'Mamma,' said Venetia, 'are there any ghosts in this abbey?'