He had gone back to the home of the Pennys in America.
Not, however, to Myrtle Forge itself, the true centre of his
inheritance. The house there had been uninhabited since his father's
early years; it was a closed and melancholy memento; he had reanimated a
comfortable stone dwelling at Shadrach Furnace; its solid grey facade
drawn out by two happy additions to the original, small square. It had
been, traditionally, at first, the house of the head furnacemen;
sometime after that, perhaps a hundred years, Graham Jannan, newly
married, had lived there while occupied with the active manufacture of
iron; and three summers back he, Howat Penny, the last Penny now, had
returned to the vicinity of Jaffa.
XXIV
The room in which he sat had two windows, set in the deep recesses of
heavy stone walls, and three doors, two leading into opposite rooms and
the third opening without. The double lamp stood on a low, gate-legged
table of fibrous, time-blackened oak, together with an orderly array of
periodicals--the white, typographical page of the _Saturday Review_
under the dull rose of _The Living Age_ and chocolate-coloured bulk of
the _Unpopular, Gil Blas_, the mid-week _Boston Transcript_ and
yesterday's _New York Evening Post_.
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