three o'clock
In the autumnal sun , among the embrowned and thinning foliage of the noble trees , Brandon Hall looked solemn , sad and magnificent , as usual , with a sort of retrospective serenity , buried in old-world glories and sorrows , and heeding little the follies and scandals of the hour . In the same way Miss Brandon , with Lord and Lady Chelford , was seen next Sunday , serene and unchanged , in the great carved oak Brandon pew , raised like a dais two feet at least above the level of mere Christians , who frequented the family chapel . There , among old Wylder and Brandon tombs -- some painted stone effigies of the period of Elizabeth and the first James , and some much older -- stone and marble knights praying on their backs with their spurs on , and said to have been removed nearly three hundred years ago from the Abbey of Naunton Friars , when that famous monastery began to lose its roof and turn into a picturesque ruin , and by-gone generations of Wylders and Brandons had offered up their conspicuous devotions , with -- judging from their heathen lives -- I fear no very remarkable efficacy . Here then , next Sunday afternoon , when the good vicar , the Rev. William Wylder , at three o'clock , performed his holy office in reading-desk and pulpit , the good folk from Gylingden assembled in force , saw nothing noticeable in the demeanour or appearance of the great Brandon heiress . A goddess in her aerial place , haughty , beautiful , unconscious of human gaze , and seen as it were telescopically by mortals from below . No shadow of trouble on that calm marble beauty , no light of joy , but a serene superb indifference . Of course there was some satire in Gylingden ; but , in the main , it was a loyal town , and true to its princess .