It was long and low, running the depth of the house, so that the windows faced east and west. The fireplace was wide, and over it hung a double-barrelled muzzle-loading gun, which Mrs. Gillingwater noticed was charged, for the light shone upon the copper caps. There were two doors one near the fireplace, leading to the offices and kitchen, and one by which she had entered. The floor was of oak, half covered with strips of matting, and the ceiling also was upheld by great beams of oak, that, like most of the materials in this house, had been bought or stolen from the Abbey at the time when it was finally deserted, a hundred and fifty years before. This was put beyond a doubt, indeed, by the curious way in which it had been the fancy of the builder to support these huge beams namely, by means of gurgoyles that once had carried off the water from the roofs of the Abbey. It would be difficult to imagine anything more grotesque, or indeed uncanny, than the effect of these weather-worn and grinning heads of beasts and demons glaring down upon the occupants of the chamber open-mouthed, as though they were about to spring upon and to devour them. Indeed, according to a tale in Bradmouth, a child of ten, finding herself left alone with them for the first time, was so terrified by their grizzly appearance that she fell into a fit. For the rest, the walls of the room were hung with a dingy paper, and adorned with engravings of a Scriptural character, diversified by prints taken from Fox’s “Book of Martyrs.” The furniture was good, solid and made of oak, like everything else in the place, with the sole exception of an easy chair, in which it was Samuel’s custom to smoke at night.
“I suppose, now, Mr. Rock,” said Mrs. Gillingwater, pointing to the grinning gurgoyles, “that you don’t find it lonesome up here at nights, with those stone parties for company?”
“Not a bit of it, Mrs. Gillingwater; why, I’ve known them all ever since I was a child, as doubtless others have before me, and they are downright good friends to me, they are. I have names for every one of them, and I talk to them sometimes too—now this and now that, as the fancy takes me.”
“Just what I should have expected of you, Mr. Rock,” answered Mrs. Gillingwater significantly; “not but what I dare say it is good training.”
“Meaning?” said Samuel.
“Meaning, Mr. Rock, that as it is getting late, and it’s a long and windy walk home, we’d better stop talking of stone figures and come to business—that is, if you have a mind for it.”
“By all means, Mrs. Gillingwater. But what is the business?”
“Well, it’s this: last time we met, when we parted in anger, though through no fault of mine, you said that you wanted Joan’s address: and now I’ve got it.”
“You’ve got it? Then tell it me. Come, be quick!” and he leaned towards her across the polished oak table.
“No, no, Mr. Rock: do you think that I am as green as an alder shoot, that you should ask such a thing of me? I must have the money before you get the address. Do you understand?”