CHAPTER XXIII. Beggars mounted run their horse to death. SHAKESPEARE. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, TENNYSON. In order to explain Sir Kenelm's announcement to Daubeny, we must put back the hands of old Time's Dial a little way, and call up again the ghost of the departed year, 18-, a year so richly eventful to the persons who pass across our story's stage. Once more, before it drops finally, the curtain shall rise on Rotherhame Castle, and we will judge for ourselves how the familiar rooms look in the new hands to which they have passed. It has been a great day in the annals of Rotherhame. The little Countess has made her entry, and her Castle has put off its mourning for the dead. Not even a hatchment on the gateway reminds the passer-by that within the last four-and-twenty hours a coffin has been carried beneath its arch, that honour being properly reserved by the present authorities for such as bear a nearer kinship to the head of the family than second-cousinhood. Fires blaze cheerily from every oriel and arrowslit of the many-towered building, the state apartments have been unlocked, holland coverings removed from paintings and chandeliers, flags decorate the pointed roof of the Great Hall, and the servants have adorned the steps on which their little mistress first set foot with ferns and gorgeous hothouse flowers. All traces of the former inhabitants that could be swept away have disappeared. Naught remains to them of all the broad acres that once were theirs but a few feet of earth in the churchyard, and, spite of all efforts to lighten their gloom, the old walls wear a sinister and unsmiling air, as if, conscious of their own unchanging constancy, they would frown stern disapproval on the ruthless freaks of fickle For tune. It had been decided that the rejoicings attendant on the young Countess's first state visit to her domain should take place on the Monday after her arrival, so the tenantry who swarmed at the station to welcome their lady, and themselves draw her carriage home, were consoled for being turned back at the drawbridge by the prospect of the immense banquet to be held in two days, to which a thousand guests were invited, and at which Lady Rotherhame was to preside in person. Half-a-dozen sturdy yeomen were, however, allowed to enter the enclosure that, in default of the horses they had superseded, their strong arms might draw her ladyship's carriage to her door, and these privileged persons stood with uncovered heads to watch the bright-haired child as Mr. Middleton led her tenderly across the threshold. Mrs. Bradshaw and Carry kept close behind her, and saluted the bystanders with the gracious condescension of conscious royalty. The servants had mostly assembled in the courtyard to salute their mistress, so that within the hall she found no one to greet her but Mr. Parsons and two gigantic footmen. It was chilling to come out of the bustle and excitement of expectation into this oppressive, unsympathetic silence; the expressionless decorum of the three serving men was but a sorry welcome after all, and Dolly looked round with a vague longing for some loving smile or friendly voice to make the great solemn house more homelike. But her eyes fell instead on rows of ancestral portraits, from whose gold frames her dead forefathers looked down with stony gaze upon her solitude. Involuntarily she shivered, and in a whisper asked her Uncle Middleton how it was that the eyes of all the pictures seemed to follow her as she walked. "It "That is always the case when you get a really first-rate painter," he explained. is a great test of skill. I think you ought to be very proud of possessing such works of art, little woman!" "Dear me," said Anna, "which way are we to go? I am sure I shall never find my way about in this immense place," but Mrs. Bradshaw cut her short by treading on her toe, and tried to look as if she had been born and bred within a feudal castle. Little was said as the Countess and her party followed the servants to the Red Drawing Room, where the folding doors, flung wide open, revealed such a blaze of gold and crimson as had never dazzled their eyes before. Middleton, conscious of his own incongruity with his stately surroundings, could not fail to observe that his companions matched them yet worse. Dolly, even, though in her rich silk frock and plumed hat she looked like a princess, startled him by dusting with her cambric handkerchief the high backed ebony chair on which she was about to sit— a remnant of cottage breeding which fortunately escaped her aunt's notice. The new comers all stood about awkwardly, and made laboured attempts at conversation. Unconscious reverence for the magnificent upholstery of their new drawing-room kept them from raising their voices above their breath. Every one seemed afraid of expressing admiration or interest, lest the domestics should imagine that a grand house was novelty to them, and whether it was that the air of the old Castle was chilly, or that the unwontedness of their situation oppressed them, certain it is that a shadow had passed a over the spirits of the little party, who had so long anticipated this triumphant moment with an intensity of ambitious impatience. Dolly herself seemed the most cast down of all; she sat a moment listening to the drear moan of the wind in the fir-trees without, and then, as if conscious that she was lonely, and that an object to love was a necessity, she suddenly held out her arms to her Uncle Bradshaw. Mr. Bradshaw, startled by the unusual demonstration, returned the child's embrace with a series of small kisses that sounded like falling drops of putty, and said in a tone of resolute cheerfulness "So here we are in our new home at last, my dear! You will have a deal to look at, but rest before anything. Let the inspection of your bedrooms be your first business, ladies. I am glad that after our long journey we are to have a quiet evening-the Bogles, of course, we do not regard as company. Middleton whispered to Dolly to say a kind word to the servants, and hastening after them as they were about to leave the room, the Countess, to the horror of her female relatives, held out her little hand to the footman. "Mr. Curtis," she said, in high plaintive accents, "I remember you very well! You used often to come and give me bull's-eyes when I lived at the cottage.' The ghost of a smile hovered on Curtis's well-trained lips at this inappropriate remin |