He went somberly out and I examined the room with

amazed and delighted eyes. It was fifty feet long and

half as wide. The hard-wood floor was covered with

handsome rugs; every piece of furniture was quaint or

interesting. Carved in the heavy oak paneling above

the fireplace, in large Old English letters, was the inscription: The Spirit of Man is the Candle of the Lord and on either side great candelabra sent long arms

across the hearth. All the books seemed related to architecture;

German and French works stood side by side

among those by English and American authorities. I

found archaeology represented in a division where all

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the titles were Latin or Italian. I opened several cabinets

that contained sketches and drawings, all in careful

order; and in another I found an elaborate card

catalogue, evidently the work of a practised hand. The

minute examination was too much for me; I threw

myself into a great chair that might have been spoil

from a cathedral, satisfied to enjoy the general effect.

To find an apartment so handsome and so marked by

good taste in the midst of an Indiana wood, staggered

me. To be sure, in approaching the house I had seen

only a dark bulk that conveyed no sense of its character

or proportions; and certainly the entrance hall

had not prepared me for the beauty of this room. I was

so lost in contemplation that I did not hear a door open

behind me. The respectful, mournful voice of Bates

announced: "There's a bite ready for you, sir."

I followed him through the hall to a small high-wainscoted

room where a table was simply set.

"This is what Mr. Glenarm called the refectory. The

dining-room, on the other side of the house, is unfinished.

He took his own meals here. The library was the

main thing with him. He never lived to finish the house,

-more's the pity, sir. He would have made something

very handsome of it if he'd had a few years more. But

he hoped, sir, that you'd see it completed. It was his

wish, sir."

"Yes, to be sure," I replied.

He brought cold fowl and a salad, and produced a

bit of Stilton of unmistakable authenticity.

"I trust the ale is cooled to your liking. It's your

grandfather's favorite, if I may say it, sir."

I liked the fellow's humility. He served me with a

grave deference and an accustomed hand. Candles in

crystal holders shed an agreeable light upon the table;

the room was snug and comfortable, and hickory logs

in a small fireplace crackled cheerily. If my grandfather

had designed to punish me, with loneliness as

his weapon, his shade, if it lurked near, must have

been grievously disappointed. I had long been inured

to my own society. I had often eaten my bread alone,

and I found a pleasure in the quiet of the strange unknown

house. There stole over me, too, the satisfaction

that I was at last obeying a wish of my grandfather's,

that I was doing something he would have me do. I

was touched by the traces everywhere of his interest

in what was to him the art of arts; there was something

quite fine in his devotion to it. The little refectory

had its air of distinction, though it was without

decoration. There had been, we always said in the

family, something whimsical or even morbid in my

grandsire's devotion to architecture; but I felt that it

had really appealed to something dignified and noble

in his own mind and character, and a gentler mood

than I had known in years possessed my heart. He had

asked little of me, and I determined that in that little

I would not fail.




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