“The gentleman for the Pinewood?” “I am going to the Pinewood,” I said. “The doctor, sir, what attended Sir Roderick in London?” “Yes.” I got up, and we drove off. The skittish bay (Reindeer) went like the wind at first along the smooth highroad, through snug villages, past outhouses, between hop-gardens, till we came to the hills covered with pine-forest. “This is the Pinewood, sir,” said the old man; “as far as you can see a tree.” That was much farther than I could see. The slopes were clad with the straight, tall trees, from slim saplings to lofty giants, until the dark green outlines of the hills melted into the lilac haze of the horizon. Driving less quickly uphill, he told me something about his master and his habits. “You must excuse my not believin’ in you at first sight, sir,” he said; “but so few gen’l’men comes here, and they’re not young gen’l’men, but them as pokes about after beetles or goes butterfly catching. Some goes out with a hammer, and knocks the stones about. And as for a lady—well, sir, I suppose you know Sir Roderick can’t abide the sight of a petticoat?” I murmured something. I was certainly not going to discuss my host with one of his servants. Fortunately, we were now in the grounds. What a dream of beauty! Velvety, mosslike hillocks, among the stern clumps of pines; whole glades of bracken in narrow dells, fairy sporting grounds; then, an occasional oasis of garden, apparently growing spontaneously among the woodland. Here and there a flight of steps, leading to the shrubbery of high laurels and conifers, or a small white-stone temple; now and again a stone bench, flanked by cypresses and urns on pedestals—such a bench as one sees in the gardens in Italy. Then, suddenly, a dip in the land to the right, disclosing a tiny park, with some beeches and elms, and in its centre a circular garden, surrounding a white-domed building. “A chapel?” I asked. “It was wonst,” my conductor told me; “but not in my time. We none of us knows nothink about wot’s inside. They do talk about that chapel, folks do. My opinion is, that there’s nothink in it; it just amuses Sir Roderick to tease their curiosity.” Then a sharp turn and a short drive between thick firwoods brought us to a strange place. A long, high wall—the wall of a solid building; for there was a porch, a door, and long, narrow windows on either side. If the whole façade had had windows it would have looked like a museum, for on the top there was a balustrade crowned at intervals with small, funereal-looking urns. The place looked mouldy and dismal even on this glorious summer day. “Well?” I said, for Thomas drew up before the door. “Well, sir, if you just give that bell hanging to the right of the door a good pull, they’ll hear you.”