It was sad to view it now; and yet the house, gloomy as it was, recalled seasons with which, though they might awaken regret, no guilty associations were connected.

Dark was the hall, and desolate, but on the fine old trees around it the rooks were settling, and their loud cawings pleased him, and excited gentle emotions.

For a few moments he grew young again, and forgot why he was there.

Fondly surveying the house, the terraced garden, in which, as a boy, he had so often strayed, and the park beyond it, where he had chased the deer; his gaze rose to the cloudy heights of Pendle, springing immediately behind the mansion, and up which he had frequently climbed.

The flood-gates of memory were opened at once, and a whole tide of long-buried feelings rushed upon his heart.
From this half-painful, half-pleasurable retrospect he was aroused by the loud blast of a trumpet, thrice blown.