Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor, through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see, and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases. There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the hall. “Charles Atheling--who’s _Charles_ Atheling?” said a peremptory voice outside. “I know no one of the name.” With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable. “Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony, “which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?” “I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt Bridget’s hands.” “What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What are you good for, boy?” Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence. “Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property? What! do you mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the whole at once.” “Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come and ask you.” “Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is a lie.”