'There's room here for some thousands of volumes,' Egremont said, moving to one of the windows. 'It will serve tolerably as a reading-room, too. Nothing like as large as it ought to be, of course, but we must be content to feel our way to better things.' Gilbert nodded. In spite of his companion's resolute cheerfulness, he felt a distressing dejection creep upon him as he stood in the cold, darkening room. He could not feel the interest and hope which hitherto this project had inspired him with. The figure of the old caretaker impressed him painfully. For any movement she made she might have been asleep; the regular sound of her heavy breathing was quite audible, and vapour rose from her lips upon the air. 'What do you think?' Egremont asked, when Grail remained mute. 'I should think it will do very well. What is there upstairs?' 'Two class-rooms. We should use those for lectures. Let us go up.' The old woman walked before them to a door opposite that by which they had entered. They found themselves in a small vestibule, out of which, on one hand, a door led into a cloak-room, while on the other ascended a flight of stone stairs. There was nothing noticeable in the rooms above; the windows here were also very dirty, and mist floated below the ceilings. The caretaker had remained below, contenting herself with indicating the way. 'You seem disappointed,' Walter said. He himself had ceased to talk, he felt cold and uncomfortable. 'No, no, indeed I'm not,' Grail hastened to reply. 'I think it is as good a place as you could have found.' 'We don't see it under very inspiriting conditions. Fire and light and comfortable furniture would make a wonderful difference, even on a day like this.' Gilbert reproached himself for taking so coldly his friend's generous zeal. 'And books still more,' he replied, 'The room below will be a grand sight with shelves all round the walls.' 'Well, I must make further inquiries, but I think the place will suit us.' They descended, their footsteps ringing on the stone and echoing up to the roof. The old woman still stood at the foot of the stairs, her head bent, the hand against her side. 'Will you go out here,' she asked, 'or do you want to see anythink else?' 'I should like to see the back part again,' Egremont replied. She led them across the schoolroom, through the dark passage, and into a small room which had the distant semblance of a parlour. Here she lit a lamp; then, without speaking, guided them over the house, of which she appeared to be the only inhabitant. There were seven rooms; only three of them contained any furniture. Then they all returned to the comfortless parlour. 'Your chest is bad,' Egremont remarked, looking curiously at the woman. 'Yes, I dessay it is,' was the ungracious reply. 'Well, I don't think we need trouble you any more at present, but I shall probably have to come again in a day or two.' 'I dessay you'll find me here.'