The Trotter. 151 



However, from all accounts, affairs at the Grange were now wear- 

 ing a threatening aspect, and they did say that Sam was only 

 nominal possessor, living in the hall of his ancestors on sufferance, 

 for that the mortgagees held all the title-deeds, and that Capt. 

 Morris had a bill of sale over all his personal property. 



On leaving the summer-house I branched off into the labyrinth 

 of trees and rubbish with which I was surrounded, anxious to see 

 the extent of this wilderness, when I suddenly came upon a little 

 spot, a perfect oasis in the desert. It was a small patch of garden- 

 ground, laid out and tended with the greatest care. The flower- 

 beds were kept in the neatest order, and stocked with the choicest 

 varieties of hollyhocks, dahlias, and other autumnal flowers, which 

 now blazed showily out, in strange contrast with the weeds sur- 

 rounding them on all sides. Working in one of the beds was an 

 old man, and by his side stood a lady, and a boy about ten years of 

 age. I had little difficulty, from what I had heard of her, in re- 

 cognising in this proud-looking, handsome woman (for she was 

 still handsome, notwithstanding the years of suffering and neglect 

 which she had passed through), the lady of the mansion j and the 

 vacant unmeaning stare with which the boy regarded me, as I ap- 

 proached, told me plainer tlian words could speak that this was her 

 idiot son. 



The lady looked me over with one long, keen, searching glance, 

 as I introduced myself and apologized for my intrusion. I said I 

 was waiting for Mr. West, and had strolled quite by chance into 

 the garden to pass away the time. 



"Not much to see at Ashby, I fancy, except the stables," was 

 her reply j adding in a tone of bitter irony, " unless it is a proof of 

 what waste and neglect can accomplish. A friend of Mr. West's, 

 I suppose ; you want to see him something about a horse ?" glancing 

 at the jockey- whip in my hand. 



" Well," I said, for her keen black eye was on me, and I felt 

 that prevarication was useless (I had heard of Tom the prize- 

 fighter's remark, and I could not help thinking that he was about 

 right, and that, if she had only been born a man, what a splendid 



