The towering
hall-door stood half open; and down the broad stairs--his tall, slim
figure, showing black against the light of the discoloured
lobby-window--his raven hair reaching to his shoulders--Mervyn, the
pale, large-eyed genius of that haunted place, came to meet him. He led
him into the cedar parlour, the stained and dusty windows of which
opened upon that moss-grown orchard, among whose great trunks and arches
those strange shapes were said sometimes to have walked at night, like
penitents and mourners through cathedral pillars.
It was a reception as stately, but as sombre and as beggarly withal as
that of the Master of Ravenswood, for there were but two chairs in the
cedar-parlour,--one with but three legs, the other without a bottom; so
they were fain to stand. But Mervyn could smile without bitterness and
his desolation had not the sting of actual poverty, as he begged the
rector to excuse his dreary welcome, and hoped that he would find things
better the next time.
Their little colloquy got on very easily, for Mervyn liked the rector,
and felt a confidence in him which was comfortable and almost
exhilarating.
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