He looked wistfully at the
gloomy windows, unlighted by a single reflection from without, like the
rayless night of his own soul:--they were mostly closed. A mysterious
and unusual stillness prevailed. The brown leaves fluttered about,
unswept from the dreary avenues. Decayed branches obstructed the paths;
and every object wore a look of wretchedness and dilapidation. The only
sign of occupancy and life was one grey wreath of smoke, curling heavily
from its vent, as if oppressed with the gloom by which it was
surrounded. The melancholy note of the redbreast was the only living
sound, as the bird came hopping towards him with its usual air of
familiarity and respect. Enveloped in a military cloak, and in his cap a
dark feather drooping gently over his proud features, the stranger
slowly approached the house: a side-door stood partly open. He entered.
A narrow passage led into the hall. No embers brightened the huge
chimney. The table showed no relics of the feast,--no tokens of the past
night's revel. The deer's antlers still hung over the master's place at
the board, but the oaken chair was gone. Dust and desertion had played
strange antics in these "high places.
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