She made no answer. In one hand he carried a newspaper, unconscious that he held it in a grasp like that of a vice. They reached the wood at this moment, and stepped under the firs. Anne asked whether they could see the house.
“By coming a little to the right. It lies in a hollow.”
She stood still and looked.
“And I am not permitted to go there?”
“Illness excuses everything. I assure you Sir Michael’s condition is such that we don’t know what a day may bring. That has kept me here.”
“One hears of nothing but death,” said Anne restlessly. “I do not like the house. I cannot fancy Hugh in it. It is gloomy.”
“You see it on a dark day, and saddened. It may be fancy, but I always think that old family places share the feelings of their owners.”
“Then Oakwood should be cheerful?”
“It is.”
“You come there sometimes?” Anne asked. She had turned her back sharply upon Firleigh, and was walking on.