On her left hand, she saw a row of lofty
windows, set deep in embrasures, and extending
over a frontage of more than a hundred feet in
length. On her right hand, ranged in one long
row from end to end of the opposite wall, hung
a dismal collection of black begrimed old pictures,
rotting from their frames, and representing
battle-scenes by sea and land. Below the pictures,
midway down the length of the wall, yawned a
huge cavern of a fireplace, surmounted by a
towering mantelpiece of black marble. The one
object of furniture (if furniture it might be
called) visible far or near in the vast emptiness
of the place, was a gaunt ancient tripod of
curiously chased metal, standing lonely in the
middle of the hall, and supporting a wide circular
pan, filled deep with ashes from an extinct
charcoal fire. The high ceiling, once finely carved
and gilt, was foul with dirt and cobwebs; the
naked walls at either end of the room were
stained with damp; and the cold of the marble
floor struck through the narrow strip of matting
laid down, parallel with the windows, as a footpath
for passengers across the wilderness of the
room. No better name for it could have been
devised than the name which old Mazey had
found. "Freeze-your-Bones " accurately
described, in three words, the Banqueting-Hall at
St. Crux.

"Do you never light a fire in this dismal
place?" asked Magdalen.

"It all depends on which side of Freeze-your-
Bones his honour the admiral lives," said old
Mazey. " His honour likes to shift his quarters,
sometimes to one side of the house, sometimes
to the other. If he lives Noathe of Freeze-
your-Bones which is where you've just come
from—we don't waste our coals here. If he
lives South of Freeze-your-Bones—which is
where we are going to next—we light the fire in
the grate and the charcoal in the pan. Every
night, when we do that, the damp gets the better
of us: every morning, we turn to again, and
get the better of the damp."

With this remarkable explanation, old Mazey
led the way to the lower end of the Hall, opened
more doors, and showed Magdalen through
another suite of rooms, four in number; all of
moderate size, and all furnished in much the
same manner as the rooms in the northern wing.
She looked out of the windows, and saw the
neglected gardens of St. Crux, overgrown with
brambles and weeds. Here and there, at no
great distance in the grounds, the smoothly
curving line of one of the tidal streams peculiar
to the locality, wound its way, gleaming in the
sunlight, through gaps in the brambles and trees.
The more distant view, ranged over the flat
eastward country beyond, speckled with its
scattered little villages; crossed and re-crossed by
its network of "backwaters;" and terminated
abruptly by the long straight line of sea-wall
which protects the defenceless coast of Essex
from invasion by the sea.

"Have we more rooms still to see?" asked
Magdalen, turning from the view of the garden,
and looking about her for another door.

"No more, my dear—we've run aground here,
and we may as well wear round, and put back
again," said old Mazey. " There's another side
to the house—due south of you as you stand
now—which is all tumbling about our ears. You
must go out into the garden, if you want to see
it; it's built off from us by a brick bulkhead,
t'other side of this wall here. The monks lived
due south of us, my dear, hundreds of years afore
his honour the admiral was born or thought of;
and a fine time of it they had, as I've heard.
They sang in the church, all the morning, and
drank grog in the orchard all the afternoon.
They slept off their grog on the best of feather-
beds; and they fattened on the neighbourhood
all the year round. Lucky beggars! lucky
beggars!"

Apostrophising the monks in these terms, and
evidently regretting that he had not lived himself
in those good old times, the veteran led the way
back through the rooms. On the return passage
across "Freeze-your-Bones," Magdalen preceded
him. "She's as straight as a poplar," mumbled
old Mazey to himself, hobbling along after his
youthful companion, and wagging his venerable
head in cordial approval. "I never was
particular what nation they belonged to—but I
always did like 'em straight and fine-grown, and
I always shall like 'em straight and fine-grown,
to my dying day."

"Are there more rooms to see up-stairs,
on the second floor?" asked Magdalen, when
they had returned to the point from which they
had started.

The naturally clear distinct tones of her voice,
had hitherto reached the old sailor's imperfect
sense of hearing easily enough. Rather to her
surprise, he became stone-deaf, on a sudden, to
her last question.

"Are you sure of your Pints of the Compass,"
he inquired. " If you're not sure, put
your back agin the wall, and we'll go all
over 'em again, my dear, beginning with the
Noathe."

Magdalen assured him that she felt quite
familiar, by this time, with all the points, the
"Noathe " included—and then repeated her
question in louder tones. The veteran
obstinately matched her, by becoming deafer than
ever.

"Yes, my dear," he said; " you're right; it is
chilly in these passages; and unless I go back
to my fire, my fire 'll go out—won't it? If you
don't feel sure of your Pints of the Compass,
come in to me, and I'll put you right again."
He winked benevolently, whistled to the dogs,
and hobbled off. Magdalen heard him chuckle
over his own success in balking her curiosity
on the subject of the second floor. "I know
how to deal with 'em!" said old Mazey to
himself, in high triumph. " Tall and short, native
and foreign, sweethearts and wives— I know how
to deal with 'em!"