During three or four days afterward he saw
little or nothing of Melrose. But he and Nurse Aston were well aware that
unusual things were going on in the house. Owing to the great thickness
of the walls, the distance of Faversham's room from the scene of action,
and the vigilance of his nurse, who would allow no traffic whatever
through the front hall, the patient was protected from the noise of
workmen in the house, and practically knew nothing of the operations
going on. Melrose appeared every evening as usual, and gave no hint.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, Melrose met Undershaw in the hall, as
he entered the house.
"How is he?"
"All right again, I think, and doing well. I hope we shall have no
further drawbacks."
"Be good enough to give me ten minutes--before you see Mr. Faversham?"
The invitation could not have been more _grand-seigneur_ish. Undershaw,
consumed with curiosity, accepted. Melrose led the way.
But no sooner had they passed a huge lacquer screen, newly placed in
position, and turned into the great corridor, than Undershaw exclaimed in
amazement. Melrose was striding along toward the south wing. Behind them,
screened off, lay regions no longer visible to any one coming from the
hall. In front, stretched a beautiful and stately gallery, terminating in
a pillared window, through which streamed a light to which both it and
the gallery had been strangers for nearly a score of years. A mass of
thick shrubbery outside, which had grown up close to the house, and had
been allowed for years to block this window, together with many others on
the ground floor, had been cut sheer away.
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