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throughwhichshoweddimlytheneglecteddoorsand
windowsofout-officesandstables.Attherightrose,
threestorieshigh,withmelancholygablesandtall
chimneys,theoldstonehouse.
SothiswasCarwellGrange.Nettlesgrewinthe
cornersoftheyard,andtuftsofgrassinthechinks
ofthestonesteps,andthewornmasonrywastinted
withmossandlichens,andallaroundrosethesolemn
melancholyscreenofdarksomefoliage,highoverthe
surroundingwalls,andouttoppingthegrayroofofthe
house.
Shehesitatedatthedoor,andthenraisedthelatch;
butaboltsecuredit.Anotherhesitation,andshe
venturedtoknockwithastone,thatwasprobably
placedthereforthepurpose.
Aleanoldwoman,whosecountenancedidnot
indicateapleasanttemper,putoutherheadfrom
awindow,andasked:
“Well,an’whatbrings
you
here?”
“Iexpected–toseeafriendhere,”sheanswered
timidly;“and–andyouareMrs.Tarnley–I
think
?”
“I’mtheperson,”answeredthewoman.
“AndIwastoldtoshowyouthis–andthatyouwould
admitme.”
Andshehandedher,throughtheironbarsofthe
window,alittleovalpictureinashagreencase,hardly
biggerthanapennypiece.
Theoldladyturnedittothelightandlookedhard
atit,saying,“Ay–ay–myoldeyes–theywon’tseeasthey
usedto–butitisso–theoldmissus–yes–it’sallright,
Miss,”andsheviewedtheyoungladywithsome
curiosity,buthertonesweremuchmorerespectful
asshehandedherbacktheminiature.
“I’llopenthedoor,please‘m."
AndalmostinstantlyMissMaybellheardthebolts
withdrawn.
“Wouldyoupleasetowalkin–mylady?Icanonly
bringyeintothekitchen.Theapplesisintheparlour,
andthebigroom’sfullo’straw–andtheresto’them
