We descended the bare valley to the right, we crossed the beck upon a plank, were in the oak-plantation about a minute, and there was the hall upon the farther side.
And a queer old place it seemed, half farm, half feudal castle: fowls strutting at large about the back premises (which we were compelled to skirt), and then a front door of ponderous oak, deep-set between walls fully six feet thick, and studded all over with wooden pegs.

The facade, indeed, was wholly grim, with a castellated tower at one end, and a number of narrow, sunken windows looking askance on the wreck and ruin of a once prim, old-fashioned, high-walled garden.

I thought that Rattray might have shown more respect for the house of his ancestors.
It put me in mind of a neglected grave.

And yet I could forgive a bright young fellow for never coming near so desolate a domain.
We dined delightfully in a large and lofty hall, formerly used (said Rattray) as a court-room.

The old judgment seat stood back against the wall, and our table was the one at which the justices had been wont to sit.