"Yes'm, Miss Molly, I'se a-comin' in jes a minute."
"And bring plenty of lightwood. He will probably want a fire."
With this she appeared again on the outside, crossed the paved square to
the house, and selecting a large key, unlocked the door, which grated on
its hinges as Gay pushed it open. Following her into the hall, he stood
back while she lit a row of tallow candles, in old silver sconces, which
extended up the broad mahogany staircase to the upper landing. One by
one as she applied the taper, the candles flashed out in a misty circle,
and then rising in a clear flame, shone on her upraised hand and on the
brilliant red of her lips and cheeks.
"That is your mother's room," she said, pointing to a closed door, "and
this is yours. Patsey will make a fire."
"It's rather gloomy, isn't it?"
"Shall I bring you wine? I have the key to the cellar."
"Brandy, if you please. The place feels as if it had been shut up for a
century."
"It was your uncle's room. Do you mind sleeping here? It's the easiest
to get ready."
"Not with a fire--and I may have a lamp, I suppose?"
At his question Patsey appeared with an armful of resinous pine, and a
few minutes later, a cheerful blaze was chasing the shadows up the great
brick chimney.
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