Not a man, boy or child is to climb the
fence. I may rely on you?"
"You may, judge."
"On my return you can all go. I will guard my own property after
to-day. You understand me, sergeant?"
"Perfectly, your honour."
This ended the colloquy.
Spencer's Folly, as the old ruin on the bluff was called in memory
of the vanished magnificence which was once the talk of the
county, presented a very different appearance to the eye in broad
daylight from what it did at night with a low moon sending its
mellow rays through the great gap made in its walls by that
ancient stroke of lightning. Even the enkindling beams of the
westering sun striking level through the forest failed to adorn
its broken walls and battered foundations. To the judge,
approaching it from the highway, it was as ugly a sight as the
world contained. He hated its arid desolation and all the litter
of blackened bricks blocking up the site of former feastings and
reckless merriment, and, above all, the incongruous aspect of the
one gable still standing undemolished, with the zigzag marks of
vanished staircases outlined upon its mildewed walls. But, most of
all, he shrank from a sight of the one corner still intact where
the ghosts of dead memories lingered, making the whole place
horrible to his eye and one to be shunned by all men. How long it
had been shunned by him he realised when he noticed the increased
decay of the walls and the growth of the verdure encompassing the
abominable place!
The cemetery from which he had come looked less lonesome to his
eyes and far less ominous; and, for a passing instant, as he
contemplated the scene hideous with old memories and threatening
new sorrows, he envied Bela his narrow bed and honourable rest.
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