Before he left home it had been a lively old tavern at which High-flyers, and Heralds, and Tally-hoes had changed horses on their stages up and down the country; but now the house was rather cavernous and chilly, the stable-roofs were hollow-backed, the landlord was asthmatic, and the traffic gone.
He arrived in the afternoon, and when he had sent back the fly and was having a nondescript meal, he put a question to the waiting-maid with a mien of indifference.
'Squire Everard, of Froom-Everard Manor, has been dead some years, I believe ?' She replied in the affirmative.
'And are any of the family left there still ?' 'O no, bless you, sir! They sold the place years ago--Squire Everard's son did--and went away.

I've never heard where they went to.

They came quite to nothing.' 'Never heard anything of the young lady--the Squire's daughter ?' 'No.

You see 'twas before I came to these parts.' When the waitress left the room, Nicholas pushed aside his plate and gazed out of the window.

He was not going over into the Froom Valley altogether on Christine's account, but she had greatly animated his motive in coming that way.