In the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped.

Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive.

Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags' heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp.
"It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry.

"Is it not the very picture of an old family home?
To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived.

It strikes me solemn to think of it." I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about him.