The old woman who had charge of the deserted mansion was very glad to admit Mr. O'Boyneville and his wife; for the portly presence of the barrister, and the carriage and pair that had brought them from the nearest post-town, augured a handsome recompense for her trouble. She led the visitors through the empty rooms, where the atmosphere was chill and musty, and where the mice behind the wainscot scampered away at the sound of the intruders' footfall. The old-fashioned furniture had a wasted, half-starved look to modern eyes. It seemed as if the chairs and tables had been sentient things, and were slowly perishing from inanition. As the aspect of Shannonville had depressed Mr. O'Boyneville, so the cold dampness of this untenanted mansion depressed Cecil. "I can't bear to see the dear old rooms looking so cold and cheerless," she said. "I can show you the very chair in which grandmamma used to sit; the little table on which I used to write." She opened an old-fashioned square piano, and ran her fingers gently along the keys; but, tenderly as she touched the notes, the instrument gave out a shrill discordant wail that was almost like the shriek of a banshee. But if the aspect of the place saddened Mr. O'Boyneville's young wife, her sadness was not all pain: there was a tender pleasure mingled with her regret. "You could never guess how often I have seen the old place in my dreams, Laurence," she said, "amidst all the confusion, and contradiction, and absurdity that make dreams so bewildering. I have seen dead people restored to life, and have felt no surprise in seeing them. In a dream one always seems to forget that there is any such thing as death. I thank you a thousand times for bringing me here, Laurence. You could never believe how much I have wished to see the dear old home again." "And now you see it in the hands of a stranger, and going to ruin, Cecil," said Mr. O'Boyneville. "The water comes through all the ceilings up stairs; and if the man who owns the place doesn't take care what he's about, there'll be a new roof wanted before very long." But the old woman hereupon explained that the ownership was at present vested in the Court of Chancery. A suit was in progress, and had been in progress for the last three years, on settlement of which the entire property was to be realised for the benefit of the disputants. "And if the place is to be worth any body's buying, it had need be sold soon," said the old woman, "for the rain do come in here and the rain do come in there, and the wind do come in everywhere, and the rats gnaw holes in the wainscot, and eat their way through the flooring, and the windows rattle of a winter's night to that degree, that the house isn't fit for a Christian to live in."