The garden is less spacious than it was in Charlotte's time, new class-rooms having been added, which cut off something from its length. But the whole place was strangely familiar and pleasant to our eyes. Shut in by surrounding houses, more than one window overlooks its narrow space. Down its length upon one side extends the shaded walk, the "_allée défendue_," which Charlotte paced alone so many weary hours, when Emily had returned to England. Parallel to this is the row of giant pear trees,--huge, misshapen, gnarled,--that bore no fruit to us but associations vivid as memories. From behind these, in the summer twilight, the ghost of _Villette_ was wont to steal, and buried at the foot of "Methuselah," the oldest, we knew poor Lucy's love-letters were hidden to-day. A seat here and there, a few scattered shrubs, evergreen, laurel, and yew, scant blossoms, paths damp, green-crusted--that was all. Not a cheerful place at its brightest; not a sunny spot associated in one's mind with summer and girlish voices. It was very still that day; the pupils were off for the long vacation, and yet how full the place was to us! The very leaves overhead, the stones in the walls around us, whispered a story, as we walked to and fro where little feet, that tired even then of life's rough way, had gone long years before. "May we take one leaf--only one?" we asked, as we turned away. "As many as you please;" and the little French woman grasped at the leaves growing thick and dark above her head. We plucked them with our own hands, tenderly, almost reverently; then, with many thanks, and our adieus, we came away. "We have found it!" we exclaimed, when we had returned to the hotel and our friends. They only smiled their unbelief. "Do you not know--can you not see--O, do you not feel?" we cried, displaying our glistening trophies, "that these could have grown nowhere but upon the pear trees in the old garden where Charlotte Brontë used to walk and dream?" And our words carried conviction to their hearts. CHAPTER X. WATERLOO AND THROUGH BELGIUM. To Waterloo.--Beggars and guides.--The Mound.--Chateau Hougomont.--Victor Hugo's "sunken road."--Antwerp.--A visit to the cathedral.--A drive about the city.--An excursion to Ghent.--The funeral services in the cathedral.--"Poisoned? Ah, poor man!"--The watch-tower.--The Friday-market square.--The nunnery.--Longfellow's pilgrims to "the belfry of Bruges." WE could not leave the city without driving out to the battle-field of Waterloo. It is about a dozen miles to The Mound, and you may take the public coach if you choose--it runs daily. Our party being large, we preferred to engage a carriage.