"Ah, but we have the lake. I always think water softens scenery, and then look at our woods and pastureland. Here is nothing but crag upon crag. Lofty, steep, rocky heights with scanty grass. I think of the Brontës and their writings, especially Emily's. Powerful, but not pleasant. That is like the landscape about us, isn't it?" "I did not think you were so fanciful. The last time I saw Miss Carrie was at a garden-party at the Duke of N—'s place. She was in radiant spirits, and very pleased with herself and her world. Here we are." They had come to a little hamlet at the foot of a great mountain, then turned in at some big gates in a high wall, and for two miles drove through an avenue of beeches which still held some of their brown leaves as if defying winter to strip them bare. Then they stopped before a big square stone house. The grounds were untidy and neglected. When they got to the front door, it was opened by an untidy old woman, who looked like a caretaker. "Is Miss Maybrick in?" she repeated after them dully. "Well, she is, and she isn't. I reckon she's not in to strangers." "Take her my card," said Justin promptly; "and tell her I have brought my wife to see her. We will wait in the hall." It was a bare, desolate-looking house. The stone flooring had threadbare rugs upon it. The oak tables and chairs were thick with dust. The old woman went upstairs, and after some considerable time returned saying that Miss Maybrick would see them. Anstice tried not to see the dust and decay on all sides of them as they went upstairs and along a corridor to a sitting-room at the extreme end. When the door opened, they found a blazing fire to greet them. The room originally had been handsomely furnished. Thick purple velvet curtains hung from the windows, but they had a film of dust over them, as had also the old Persian carpet underfoot. Sitting in a chair by the fire was Miss Carrie Maybrick. She was not a very old lady, and had a mass of untidy copper-coloured hair which was coiled round on the top of her head. She had handsome rings on her fingers and a necklace of emeralds round her neck. She was dressed in a shabby brown velvet gown, and had bedroom slippers on. A novel was in her hand, which she put down as she turned to greet them. The room was most untidy. Cardboard boxes, books and papers, string, tins of biscuits, were strewn about, some on the floor, some piled on chairs or couches. There were handsome pictures on the walls, and old china; but it was neither a pretty room nor a comfortable one. A small brown Pomeranian was in a basket by her feet, and yapped persistently at the intruders, until he was well slapped by his mistress. Miss Maybrick seemed genuinely pleased to see Justin. "Can't get up, my feet are swollen with rheumatic gout! Why, you old sinner, you've never given me a call for a good fifteen years or so! And just as good-looking as ever! I thought your wife was dead: is this another?" She turned to Anstice.