"I don't believe they do any shooting, Mr. Glenarm.

It's a pretty strict school, I judge, sir, from all accounts."

"And the teachers-they are all women?"

"They're the Sisters of St. Agatha, I believe they call

them. I sometimes see them walking abroad. They're

very quiet neighbors, and they go away in the summer

usually, except Sister Theresa. The school's her regular

home, sir. And there's the little chapel quite near the

wall; the young minister lives there; and the gardener's

the only other man on the grounds."

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So my immediate neighbors were Protestant nuns

and school-girls, with a chaplain and gardener thrown

in for variety. Still, the chaplain might be a social resource.

There was nothing in the terms of my grandfather's

will to prevent my cultivating the acquaintance

of a clergyman. It even occurred to me that this might

be a part of the game: my soul was to be watched over

by a rural priest, while, there being nothing else to do,

I was to give my attention to the study of architecture.

Bates, my guard and housekeeper, was brushing the

hearth with deliberate care.

"Show me my cell," I said, rising, "and I'll go to

bed."

He brought from somewhere a great brass candelabrum

that held a dozen lights, and explained: "This was Mr. Glenarm's habit. He always used this

one to go to bed with. I'm sure he'd wish you to have

it, sir."

I thought I detected something like a quaver in the

man's voice. My grandfather's memory was dear to him.

I reflected, and I was moved to compassion for him.

"How long were you with Mr. Glenarm, Bates?" I

inquired, as I followed him into the hall.

"Five years, sir. He employed me the year you went

abroad. I remember very well his speaking of it. He

greatly admired you, sir."

He led the way, holding the cluster of lights high for

my guidance up the broad stairway.

The hall above shared the generous lines of the whole

house, but the walls were white and hard to the eye.

Rough planks had been laid down for a floor, and beyond

the light of the candles lay a dark region that gave

out ghostly echoes as the loose boards rattled under our

feet.

"I hope you'll not be too much disappointed, sir,"

said Bates, pausing a moment before opening a door.

"It's all quite unfinished, but comfortable, I should say,

quite comfortable."

"Open the door!"

He was not my host and I did not relish his apology.

I walked past him into a small sitting-room that was,

in a way, a miniature of the great library below. Open

shelves filled with books lined the apartment to the

ceiling on every hand, save where a small fireplace, a

cabinet and table were built into the walls. In the

center of the room was a long table with writing materials

set in nice order. I opened a handsome case and

found that it contained a set of draftsman's instruments.




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