Walking in the moonlight, with Maud for his companion, was a very pleasant occupation for Tor. He felt a very warm admiration for Phil’s pretty, lively sister; and her affection towards himself was certainly most agreeable, none the less so from its being unmerited. So far as Maud was concerned, Tor enjoyed the situation vastly. He liked being made the recipient of sisterly confidences, and he felt that during the first struggle for emancipation, which would have to be fought before she quite escaped from the sway of her uncle and aunt, he would make a far better champion in her defence than would the real brother. So they walked on together in the moonlight, laughing and chattering, until they suddenly emerged from the shelter of the trees, and saw the great house before them, its many large mullioned windows gleaming in the soft radiance of the full moon. It was a handsome red-brick structure, with a wide terrace running round three sides of it. The fourth, where the servants’ offices lay, was shut off from view by a high wall, now overgrown with glossy ivy, which completely surrounded all the back premises. The gardens were laid out with great care, and a little later on would be a blaze of colour. The lawns were like velvet, and were shaded by magnificent trees—cedars, yews and graceful conifera. Everything about the place indicated the utmost care, and art had aided nature in making all around particularly beautiful. The house stood well, and the lie of the land around it was peculiarly picturesque. Nothing there was new or raw-looking. The red-brick walls were draped with graceful creepers; the wide terrace and shallow stone steps showed, without any trace of decay, that hundreds of years had passed over them. The look of the trees and shrubs, and the air of the whole place, indicated a calm and solemn antiquity. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Maud softly. ‘Isn’t it a lovely place to have for one’s own?’ ‘Very,’ assented Tor, feeling, though only by proxy, a certain pride of possession. ‘There are never such places as this out of England. Can we go into the house?’ ‘Oh yes—let us. We must go round to the front. This way, by the terrace. See, isn’t it an imposing frontage?’ It certainly was imposing. A wide carriage-drive made a bold sweep round to the house, passing beneath the terrace, which, on this side, was adorned by statues and an ornamental stone balustrade, whilst two wide flights of steps, one at either extremity, led down from the terrace to the drive. ‘What a lovely road for riding, to say nothing of the turf! Oh, Phil, do you think we shall ever ride together? Shall you be able to keep saddle-horses? Uncle Belassis never would let us ride; but I do so love it: and I know how to, because I have stayed sometimes with Roma, and ridden with her. It would be splendid to ride here with you.’