My Lady Bountiful by Fred M. White

Kathleen was up betimes in the morning. She was anxious to examine the paradise where her lines had fallen. She saw the grand old rooms packed with their treasures, oak and lath and plaster all teeming with memories; she saw the grand old half-timbered front, the trim lawns and terraces beyond what had once been the moat. It was all so quaint and beautiful, that Kathleen could do no more than saturate herself with the savour of it. She knew her Scott almost by heart, her veneration for the spirit of age was intense, but in her wildest flights she had never anticipated anything like this.

She was glad to have it all to herself. It was almost with a sense of dismay that she saw the double doors in the Gothic porch open and the stately figure of Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram emerge. She was dressed precisely as she had been the night before, save that she wore no ornaments. She slightly inclined her weight upon a clouded cane, but it was evident that she had not the slightest need of this support. Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram came along stately and smiling.