One hot cloudless day of summer, Hugh took a train, and, descending at a quiet wayside station, walked to a little place deep in the country, to see the remains of an ancient house which he was told had a great beauty. He found the place with some difficulty. The church, to which he first directed his steps, was very ancient and almost ruinous. It was evidently far too big for the needs of the little hamlet, and it was so poorly endowed that it was difficult to find any one who would take the living. A great avenue of chestnuts, with a grass-grown walk beneath, led up to the porch. He entered by a curious iron-bound door, under a Norman arch of very quaint workmanship. The church was of different dates, and the very neglect which it suffered gave it an extreme picturesqueness. One of its fine features was a brick chapel, built at the east end of one of the aisles, where an old baron lay in state, in black armour, his eyes closed quietly, his pointed beard on his breast, his hands folded, as though he lay praying to himself. The heavy marble pillars of the shrine were carved with a stiff ornament of vine-leaves and grape-clusters, and the canopy rose pompously to the roof, with its cognisances and devices. There were many monuments in the church, on which Hugh read the history of the ancient family, now engulphed in a family more wealthy and ancient still; the latest of the memorials was that of a lady, whose head, sculptured by Chantrey, with its odd puffs of hair, had a discreet and smiling mien, as of one who had known enough sorrow to purge prosperity of its grossness. From the churchyard there led a little path, which skirted a wide moat of dark water, full of innumerable fish, basking in the warmth; in the centre of the moat stood a dark grove of trees, with a thick undergrowth. Suddenly, through an opening, Hugh saw the turrets of an ancient gatehouse, built of mellow brick, rising into the sunlight, with an astonishing sweetness and nobleness of air; below was a lawn, bordered by yew-hedges, where a party of people, ladies in bright dresses and leisurely men, were sitting talking with a look of smiling content. It was more like a scene in a romance than a thing in real life. Hugh stood unobserved beneath a tree, and looked long at the delightful picture; and then presently wandered further by a grassy lane, with high hedges full of wild roses and elder-blooms, where the air had a hot, honied perfume. He came in a moment to a great clear stream running silently between banks full of meadow-sweet and loosestrife. The turrets of the gatehouse looked pleasantly over the trees of the little park that lay on the other side of the stream. The air was still but fresh. The trees stood silent, with the metallic look of high summer upon their stiff leaves, as though seen in a picture. The whole landscape seemed to have a consecration of quiet joy and peace over it. It seemed a place made for the walks of rustic lovers, on