He would not mind, he said to himself, if Joan would be there the moment the door opened.

But would any servant in England admit a fellow like him to the presence of a grand lady?
How could he walk up to the great door in the guise of one who had all night had his lodging on the cold ground! He would reconnoitre a little, find some quiet way of approaching the house, perhaps discover some shelter where he might rectify what was worst in his personal appearance! He turned away therefore from the front of the castle, and following the road that skirted the dilapidated remnants of fortification, passed several farmlike sheds, and arrived at a door in a brick wall, apparently that of a garden--ancient, and green and gray with lichens.

Looking through it with the eyes of his imagination, he saw on the other side the loveliest picture of warmth, order, care, and ancient peace,--regions stately with yews and cedars, fruit-trees and fountains, clean-swept walks and shady alleys.

The red wall, mottled and clouded with its lichens, and ruffed with many a thready weed, looked like the reverse of some bit of gorgeous brocade, on the sunny side of which must hang blossoming peaches and pears, nectarines and apricots and apples, on net-like trees, that spread out great obedient arms and multitudinous twigs against it, holding on by it, and drinking in the hot sunshine it gathered behind them.

Ah, what it would be to have such a garden at Glenwarlock! He turned to the door, with difficulty opened it, and the vision vanished.