Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes, honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will. It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this favorite spot with the garb of mourning.
There was no front entrance to this singular building; and the visitors rode round to a low door at the back, partly concealed by a pent roof. After knocking several minutes, it was opened by a very old negro, dressed in a tarnished livery, with his woolly hair drawn out into a queue, and powdered. He smiled a welcome, and, with much show of respect, led them through many dark passages to a low but very comfortable room. The walls were hung with faded tapestry; and the low ceiling, crossed with heavy beams, would have made the apartment gloomy, but for two large windows that looked into the sunny garden. The sashes were of small, lozenge panes of glass set in lead; while the bright autumn sun streamed through, and shone with cheerful light on the black oak furniture, and showed every mote dancing in its beams.
Edith looked around with surprise and delight. A lady not much past the meridian of life came forward to greet them. She was dressed in an olive-colored brocade, with a snowy lawn apron and neckerchief folded across her breast. The sleeve reached just below the elbow, and was finished with a ruffle, and black silk mitts met the ruffle at the elbow. A rich lace shaded her face, and a small black velvet hood was tied closely under the chin.
The lady's manner was rather stately and formal, as she greeted Mr. Grafton with all the ceremony of the old school of politeness, and looked at his daughter.
"She is the image of her mother," said Lady C——.
"She is a precious flower," answered Mr. Grafton, looking at Edith with pride and affection, as she stood, half respectful, half bashful, before the lady.
"You have called her Mary, I hope,—her mother's name."
"No," answered Mr. Grafton; "I have but one Mary,"—and he looked upwards.
Edith pressed closer to her father. "Call me Edith, madam," she said, with a timid smile.
Lady C—— smiled also, and was soon in earnest conversation with Mr. Grafton.