THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR We had dinner in the little black-panelled room off the hall, Neil waiting on us with a great assiduity.

Now that the worst had happened and my grandfather's pride and courage had risen to meet it, it seemed to me that he looked better than he had looked for many months.

To be sure he was very pale, but he had a look of resolution which became him, instead of the cowed and burdened look he had worn of late.
I remember that there were pheasants on the table and my grandfather asked where they had come from.

There had been a constant shower of delicacies rained on us from Damerstown, and we should have grown sybarites if we had cared about such things.

Neil, as though he understood, answered him that they had been shot in our own woods, and added that the fine peaches and grapes which were in a dish on the table were from our own houses.