As soon as Louis found the badness of the weather likely to prevent his uncle's guests from taking their usual excursions, he retreated from their noisy pastimes to the large solitary library. There he knew he should be as safe from invasion, as if he had hid himself in the vaults of the chapel. A few minutes absorbed his whole attention in the black-letter annalists of Great Britain; comparing their details with the chronicles of France; and losing himself in admiration of the Condés and Montmorencies of the one country, and the Talbots and Percies of the other. He dwelt with particular delight on the chivalric characters of Froissart, feeling as if he conversed with them as friends; while the heroes of Cressy and Poictiers divided his heart between the triumph of conquest, and the god-like moderation of their victories. While thus engaged, he was at times wrested from his fancied presence in the scenes he read, by the smacking of whips, and the halloos of his uncle's guests as they passed through the hall in their visits to the stables. "What descendants of the Mowbrays, the Percies, and the Nevilles!" cried Louis to himself. The uproar rose and fell in gusts, like the tempest; and at last dying away behind the friendly interposition of long passages and distant rooms, he forgot the existence of the noisy rout; and again found himself in the pavilions of heroes. Towards four o'clock the clouds had exhausted themselves; and a bright sun, tempering the chilly freshness of the air, he looked from the library window over the woods and glades of his uncle's park; and felt inclined to steal out unobserved, and take an exhilarating race towards its boundary. The deer were coming from their covert, to enjoy the beam; and the rooks, speeding home in glad multitudes, were cooing and wheeling, and flapping their wings, as they hovered over or settled on the tall elms of the ancient avenue. These sounds of grateful nature, rather soothed than disturbed the tranquillity of the scene; and Louis lingered at the window, reciprocating the happiness of these creatures, free, careless, innocent, and full of blameless enjoyment. In the midst of these musings, a new, and an uncommon noise in his uncle's house, startled his ear; opening and banging doors along the adjoining gallery, the rumbling of trunks, the calling of servants, and a variety of female voices in constant command. Louis stood amazed. He had not heard that his uncle expected any unusual company, and least of all women; for owing to the convivial character of Sir Anthony's meetings, none of the country ladies had honoured the Castle with a visit, since the departure of Mrs. Coningsby.