Skirting the wall, and still on the perilous ridge,
Fairthorn crept on, formed an angle, and stopping
short, clapped his eye to the crevice of some planks
nailed rudely across a yawning aperture. Lionel
found another crevice for himself, and saw, piled
up in admired disorder, pictures, with their backs
turned to a desolate wall, rare cabinets, and articles
of curious furniture, chests, boxes, crates,—heaped
pell-mell. This receptacle had been roughly floored
in deal, in order to support its miscellaneous contents,
and was lighted from a large window (not visible in
front of the house), glazed in dull rough glass, with
ventilators.
“These are the heavy things, and least costly
things, that no one could well rob. The pictures
here are merely curious as early specimens, intended
for the old house, all spoiling and rotting; Mr. Darrell
wishes them to do so, I believe! What he wishes
must be done! my dear young sir: a prodigious
mind; it is of granite!”
“I cannot understand it,” said Lionel,
aghast. “The last man I should have thought
capriciously whimsical.”
“Whimsical! Bless my soul! don’t
say such a word, don’t, pray! or the roof will
fall down upon us! Come away. You have
seen all you can see. You must go first now;
mind that loose stone there!”
Nothing further was said till they were out of the
building; and Lionel felt like a knight of old who
had been led into sepulchral halls by a wizard.
The annals of empire are briefly chronicled
in family records brought down to the present
day, showing that the race of men is indeed “like
leaves on trees, now green in youth, now withering
on the ground.” Yet to the branch
the most bare will green leaves return, so long
as the sap can remount to the branch from the root;
but the branch which has ceased to take life from
the root—hang it high, hang it low—is
a prey to the wind and the woodman.
It was mid-day. The boy and his new friend were
standing apart, as becomes silent anglers, on the
banks of a narrow brawling rivulet, running through
green pastures, half a mile from the house. The
sky was overcast, as Darrell had predicted, but the
rain did not yet fall. The two anglers were
not long before they had filled a basket with small
trout. Then Lionel, who was by no means fond
of fishing, laid his rod on the bank, and strolled
across the long grass to his companion.
“It will rain soon,” said he. “Let
us take advantage of the present time, and hear the
flute, while we can yet enjoy the open air. No,
not by the margin, or you will be always looking after
the trout. On the rising ground, see that old
thorn tree; let us go and sit under it. The
new building looks well from it. What a pile
it would have been! I may not ask you, I suppose,
why it is left uncompleted. Perhaps it would
have cost too much, or would have been disproportionate
to the estate.”
