“Yes,” said Henley, “I had hardly expected to find the season so far advanced in your Southern home.” “Our altitude more than amends for our latitude,” answered the old man; and then, taking a pair of massive tongs from the corner of the mantel, he stirred the balsam logs into a fierce blaze, starting a myriad of sparks in their flight up the chimney. Dorothy was looking above, and Paul, following the direction of her eyes, observed a model of Father Time reclining upon a shelf near the ceiling. The figure's scythe was broken; his limbs were in shackles, and his body covered with chains. It was an original conception, and Henley could not help asking if Time had really been checked in his onward march at Guir House. “Ah!” said Dorothy, “that is a symbol of a great truth; but I am not surprised at your asking;” then, turning to the old man, added: “Mr. Henley has not yet been shown to his room, and I am sure he would like to see it. It is the west chamber.” “True,” said Ah Ben, rising and taking a candle from the mantel, which he lighted with a firebrand; “if Mr. Henley will follow me, I shall take pleasure in pointing it out to him.” Paul followed the elder man up the black stairs, through devious passages, and past doors with pictured panels, until he began to wonder if he could ever find his way back again. At last they stopped before a rough door, hung with massive hinges stretching half way across it, discolored with rust, and looking as if they had not been moved in an age, and which creaked dismally as Ah Ben entered. “This will be your room,” he said, bowing courteously, and placing the candle upon the table near the chimney. He then reminded Henley that their evening meal would soon be ready. “If there is anything further which you will need, pray let me know,” he added, and then retired. “I should like my luggage,” said Paul, having left it below, with the exception of a small satchel. “It shall be sent to you at once,” the old man answered, as he walked slowly away. Left to himself, Henley looked around with curiosity. Every comfort had been provided, even to an arm-chair and writing-table by the fire; but the room, as well as its furnishing, was old and quaint, and rapidly going to decay. Everything he saw related to a past period of existence. The window was high, and deep set in the wall. There was a bench under it, upon which one was obliged to climb to obtain a view of the country, and Henley pulled himself up into the sill to look out. The landscape presented an unbroken panorama of forest. No farming land was visible, and the distant mountains closed in the sky-line, and all bathed in the soft light of the moon, made a picture of extreme beauty and loneliness--a solid wilderness, shut in from the busy world without. There was a musty smell, as if the room had not been used in years, and he lifted the sash. The rich perfume of fir and balsam was wafted in, displacing the disagreeable odor.