Mr. Garthwaite, who had been
walking along thoughtfully, with his eyes on the ground, turned
back when he found me lingering behind him; looked up where I was
looking; started a little, I thought; then took my arm, whispered
rather impatiently, "Don't say anything about having seen that
poor child when you are introduced to Miss Welwyn; I'll tell you
why afterward," and led me round hastily to the front of the
building.
It was a very dreary old house, with a lawn in front thickly
sprinkled with flower-beds, and creepers of all sorts climbing in
profusion about the heavy stone porch and the mullions of the
lower windows. In spite of these prettiest of all ornaments
clustering brightly round the building--in spite of the perfect
repair in which it was kept from top to bottom--there was
something repellent to me in the aspect of the whole place: a
deathly stillness hung over it, which fell oppressively on my
spirits. When my companion rang the loud, deep-toned bell, the
sound startled me as if we had been committing a crime in
disturbing the silence. And when the door was opened by an old
female servant (while the hollow echo of the bell was still
vibrating in the air), I could hardly imagine it possible that we
should be let in. We were admitted, however, without the slightest
demur. I remarked that there was the same atmosphere of dreary
repose inside the house which I had already observed, or rather
felt, outside it.
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