It was about four o’clock when she slipped quietly out of the room at that lady’s invitation, and the lobbies and long passages had a shadowy look in the declining light.  There was light enough for her to see the rooms, however; for there were no rare collections of old china, no pictures or adornments of any kind, to need a minute inspection.

“It’s a fine old place, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. Tadman.  “There’s not many farmers can boast of such a house as Wyncomb.”

“It’s large enough,” Ellen answered, with a tone which implied the reverse of admiration; “but it’s not a place I should like to live in.  I’m not one to believe in ghosts or such nonsense, but if I could have any such foolish thoughts, I should have them here.  The house looks as if it was haunted, somehow.”

Mrs. Tadman laughed a shrill hard laugh, and rubbed her skinny hands with an air of satisfaction.

“You’re not easy to please, Miss Carley,” she said; “most folks think a deal of Wyncomb; for, you see, it’s only them that live in a house as can know how dull it is; and as to the place being haunted, I never heard tell of anything of that kind.  The Whitelaws ain’t the kind of people to come back to this world, unless they come to fetch their money, and then they’d come fast enough, I warrant.  I used to see a good deal of my uncle, John Whitelaw, when I was a girl, and never did a son take after his father closer than my cousin Stephen takes after him; just the same saving prudent ways, and just the same masterful temper, always kept under in that quiet way of his.”

As Ellen Carley showed herself profoundly indifferent to the lights and shades of Mr. Whitelaw’s character, Mrs. Tadman did not pursue the subject, but with a gentle sigh led the way to another room, and so on from room to room, till they had explored all that floor of the house.

“There’s the attics above; but you won’t care to see them,” she said.  “The shepherd and five other men sleep up there.  Stephen thinks it keeps them steadier sleeping under the same roof with their master; and he’s able to ring them up of a morning, and to know when they go to their work.  It’s wearying for me to have to get up and see to their breakfasts, but I can’t trust Martha Holden to do that, or she’d let them eat us out of house and home.  There’s no knowing what men like that can eat, and a side of bacon would go as fast as if you was to melt it down to tallow.  But you must know what they are, Miss Carley, having to manage for your father.”

“Yes,” Ellen answered, “I’m used to hard work.”

“Ah,” murmured the matron, with a sigh, “you’d have plenty of it, if you came here.”

They were at the end of a long passage by this time; a passage leading to the extreme end of the house, and forming part of that ivy-covered wing which seemed older than the rest of the building.  It was on a lower level than the other part, and they had descended two or three steps at the entrance to this passage.  The ceilings were lower too, the beams that supported them more massive, the diamond-paned windows smaller and more heavily leaded, and there was a faint musty odour as of a place that was kept shut up and uninhabited.