“I am glad of it,” said Madeleine; “I want to forget everything about trains and stations, and everything civilised and modern.”
Horace laughed.
“I don’t think the absence of civilisation will be as pleasant as you think,” he said; “but it isn’t as bad as that; it is really a place where comfort and antiquity might be excellently blended.”
And when at last they turned in at the lodge gates, and a few minutes later found themselves in front of the somewhat rugged granite steps leading up to the door, and then, in another moment, inside the lofty arched hall, of which the walls were hung round with trophies of the chase interspersed with old—and, it must be confessed, rusty—armour, a great wood fire burning in the vast stone hearth, an indescribable feeling of isolation and yet homelikeness pervading all—Madeleine drew a deep breath of satisfaction.
“It is delightful,” she said, turning to her brother. “I am sure we are going to love being here.”
Chapter Eleven.
First Impressions.
Breakfast-time the next morning found the brother and sister at table by themselves, for Mrs Littlewood, of late, did not make her appearance much before noon.