It was a great place, stately in its masses of grey stone to which thick ivy clung.
To Bettina it seemed that a hundred windows stared at her with closed, blind eyes.

All were shuttered but two or three on the lower floors.

Not one showed signs of life.

The silent stone thing stood sightless among all of which it was dead master--rolling acres, great trees, lost gardens and deserted groves.
"Oh!" she sighed, "Oh!" Her companion stood still and leaned upon his gun again, looking as he had looked before.
"Some of it," he said, "was here before the Conquest.

It belonged to Mount Dunstans then." "And only one of them is left," she cried, "and it is like this!" "They have been a bad lot, the last hundred years," was the surly liberty of speech he took, "a bad lot." It was not his place to speak in such manner of those of his master's house, and it was not the part of Miss Vanderpoel to encourage him by response.