Graeme was not fond of going to church yet went: he was the less
displeased with the remark. But he made no reply, and the subject
dropped.
CHAPTER XX.
THE OLD GARDEN.
The avenue seemed to Donal about to stop dead against a high wall,
but ere they quite reached the end, they turned at right angles,
skirted the wall for some distance, then turned again with it. It
was a somewhat dreary wall--of gray stone, with mortar as gray--not
like the rich-coloured walls of old red brick one meets in England.
But its roof-like coping was crowned with tufts of wall-plants, and
a few lichens did something to relieve the grayness. It guided them
to a farm-yard. Mr. Graeme left his horse at the stable, and led
the way to the house.
They entered it by a back door whose porch was covered with ivy, and
going through several low passages, came to the other side of the
house. There Mr. Graeme showed Donal into a large, low-ceiled,
old-fashioned drawing-room, smelling of ancient rose-leaves, their
odour of sad hearts rather than of withered flowers--and leaving him
went to find his sister.
Glancing about him Donal saw a window open to the ground, and went
to it. Beyond lay a more fairy-like garden than he had ever dreamed
of. But he had read of, though never looked on such, and seemed to
know it from times of old. It was laid out in straight lines, with
soft walks of old turf, and in it grew all kinds of straight
aspiring things: their ambition seemed--to get up, not to spread
abroad.
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