"Good-morning, Sergeant Troy," he returned, in a ghastly voice.
"A rambling, gloomy house this," said Troy, smiling.
"Why—they may not be married!" suggested Coggan. "Perhaps she's not there."
Gabriel shook his head. The soldier turned a little towards the east, and the sun kindled his scarlet coat to an orange glow.
"But it is a nice old house," responded Gabriel.
"Yes—I suppose so; but I feel like new wine in an old bottle here. My notion is that sashwindows should be put throughout, and these old wainscoted walls brightened up a bit; or the oak cleared quite away, and the walls papered."
"It would be a pity, I think."
"Well, no. A philosopher once said in my hearing that the old builders, who worked when art was a living thing, had no respect for the work of builders who went before them, but pulled down and altered as they thought fit; and why shouldn't we? • Creation and preservation don't do well together,' says he, 'and a million of antiquarians can't invent a style.' My mind exactly. I am for making this place more modern, that we may be cheerful whilst we can."
The military man turned and surveyed the interior of the room, to assist his ideas of im-
