The woods were full of the yellow leaves of autumn and the wind sighed
mournfully in the bare branches as I went on my way to the postern in
the wall. Outside it I turned to the left, and walked for half a mile or
so along a grassy road, overhung with trees, till I came to the entrance
gates of Brosna.
The lodge was empty, and the gate yielded to a push. There was an air of
neglect about everything that was very sad. Part of one of the pillars
which supported the entrance gate was down. In the avenue some trees
that had fallen last winter lay across the way; no one had troubled to
remove them.
I knew there was no one in the house but Captain Cardew's
soldier-servant, Terence Murphy, whose old mother lived in Araglin
village. I did not want to meet Terence; and I had an idea, having heard
of the great extent of Brosna--indeed, it was easy to judge of it from
the aspect of the place outside--that I might slip in somewhere and
leave my letter without meeting with him.
So, without going near the hall door, I passed through a little iron
gate in the wall at one end of the house, which I found led to an
overgrown garden.
The grass in the garden was as high as my waist, and here and there a
rose tree, standing up above the tangle, showed a pale autumn rose; and
little old-fashioned chrysanthemum bushes bore their clusters of tawny
and lilac flowers.
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