Fires had begun, and the glow of the burning logs shone through the room.

The return to this home of his chief studies and pursuits during many delightful years was always, at any hour of the day or year, a moment of pleasure to the Squire.

Here was shelter, here was escape--both from the troubles he had brought upon himself, and from the world tumult outside, the work of crazy politicians and incompetent diplomats.

But if there was any season when the long crowded room was more attractive than at any other, it was in these autumn evenings when firelight and twilight mingled, and the natural 'homing' instinct of the Northerner, accustomed through long ages to spend long winters mostly indoors, stirred in his blood.
His books, too, spoke to him; and the beautiful dim forms of bronzes and terra-cottas, with all their suggestions of high poetry and consummate art, breathing from the youth of the world.

He understood--passionately--the jealous and exclusive temper of the artist.