Clarice Egerton's Life Story by Annette Lyster

THE stately homes of England! Well may the poet exclaim; and among these stately homes it would be hard to find one statelier than Egerton Highfield. Its grey old walls, close covered by a mantle of ivy, which clings even round the immense chimneys; its fine terrace, with broad steps leading down into a quaint old flower garden, with a huge fountain in the centre, and only separated by a wire fence and a wide ha-ha from an extensive deer park, through which winds one of the approaches to the house; the age and grandeur of the trees, and the extent of the massive buildings, all combine to make this a truly "stately home."

But perhaps the grandest-looking thing about it was its master, who, on the day on which I mean to introduce him to you, was walking up and down the terrace of which I have spoken. This terrace ran along the west side of the house, and was therefore a sheltered place even in March-though March, in Yorkshire, is not exactly a balmy month. Perhaps it was for this reason that Sir Aymer had gone to walk there, when he became too restless to remain indoors, and there he might be seen walking up and down, up and down with slow and measured tread, always turning at the same spot, always going at the same pace; always carrying his handsome old head well up, and keeping his arms folded across his broad chest.