The front door was of heavy substantial oak, studded with nails, and never closed in the daytime, and the hall, wainscoted and floored with slippery oak, had a noble open fireplace, with a wood fire burning on the hearth. On the other side of the house was a terrace sloping down to a lawn and bowling-green, hedged in by a formal row of evergreens. A noble plane-tree was in the middle of the lawn, and beyond it a pond renowned for water-lilies. To the left was the kitchen garden, terminating in an orchard, planted on the ramparts and moat of the Old Court; then came the farm buildings, and beyond them a field, sloping upwards to an extensive wood called Beechcroft Park. In the wood was the cottage of Walter Greenwood, gamekeeper and woodman by hereditary succession, but able and willing to turn his hand to anything, and, in fact, as Adeline once elegantly termed him, the ‘family tee totum.’ To the right of the house there was a field, called Long Acre, bounded on the other side by the turnpike road to Raynham, which led up the hill to the village green, surrounded by well-kept cottages and gardens. The principal part of the village was, however, at the foot of the hill, where the Court lane crossed the road, led to the old church, the school, and parsonage, in its little garden, shut in by thick yew hedges. Beyond was the blacksmith’s shop, more cottages, and Mrs. Appleton’s wondrous village warehouse; and the lane, after passing by the handsome old farmhouse of Mr. Harrington, Mr. Mohun’s principal tenant, led to a bridge across a clear trout stream, the boundary of the parish of Beechcroft. CHAPTER III THE NEW PRINCIPLE ‘And wilt thou show no more, quoth he, Than doth thy duty bind? I well perceive thy love is small.’ ON the Sunday evening which followed Eleanor’s wedding, Lilias was sitting next to Emily, and talking in very earnest tones, which after a time occasioned Claude to look up and say, ‘What is all this about? Something remarkably absurd I suspect.’ ‘Only a new principle,’ said Emily. ‘New!’ cried Lily, ‘only what must be the feeling of every person of any warmth of character?’ ‘Now for it then,’ said Claude. ‘No, no, Claude, I really mean it (and Lily sincerely thought she did). I will not tell you if you are going to laugh.’ ‘That depends upon what your principle may chance to be,’ said Claude. ‘What is it, Emily? She will be much obliged to you for telling.’ ‘She only says she cannot bear people to do their duty, and not to act from a feeling of love,’ said Emily. ‘That is not fair,’ returned Lily, ‘all I say is, that it is better that people should act upon love for its own sake, than upon duty for its own sake.’ ‘What comes in rhyme with Lily?’ said Claude. ‘Don’t be tiresome, Claude, I really want you to understand me.’ ‘Wait till you understand yourself,’ said the provoking brother, ‘and let me finish what I am reading.’