from the
shady road into a narrow avenue of tall lime-trees; 'take the reins,
Captain, till I wipe my face. Blessed hour, look at the state I am in!
Lift him to it, and don't spare him. May I never, if that isn't the last
bell, and he only gives five minutes after that!'

Although I certainly should have preferred that Father Tom had continued
his functions as charioteer now that we were approaching the house,
common humanity, however, compelled me to spare him, and I flogged and
chucked the old beast with all my might up the rising ground towards
the house. I had but just time to see that the building before us was
a large embattled structure, which, although irregular and occasionally
incongruous in detail, was yet a fine specimen of the castellated Gothic
of the seventeenth century. Massive square towers flanked the angles,
themselves surmounted by smaller turrets, that shot up into the air high
above the dark woods around them. The whole was surrounded by a fosse,
now dry, and overgrown with weeds; but the terrace, which lay between
this and the castle, was laid out as a flower-garden, with a degree of
taste and beauty that to my mind at least bespoke the fostering hand of
Louisa Bellew. Upon this the windows of a large drawing-room opened, at
one of which I could mark the tall and stately figure of Sir Simon, as
he stood, watch in hand, awaiting our arrival. I confess, it was not
without a sense of shame that I continued my flagellations at
the moment. Under any circumstances, our turn-out was not quite
unexceptionable; but when I thought of my own position, and of the
good priest who sat beside me mopping his head and face with a huge red
cotton handkerchief, I cursed my stars for the absurd exposure. Just at
this instant the skirt of a white robe passed one of the windows, and I
thought--I hope it was but a thought--I heard a sound of laughter.

'There, that will do. Phoebus himself couldn't do it better. I wouldn't
wish my worst enemy to be in a pair of shafts before you.'

Muttering a curse on the confounded beast, I pulled short up and sprang
out.

'Not late, Nicholas, I hope?' said the priest to a tall, thin old
butler, who bore a most absurd resemblance to his master.

'Your reverence has a minute and a half yet; but the soup's on
the table.' As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a small bit of
looking-glass, in a wooden frame, and with a pocket-comb arranged his
hair in a most orderly and decorous mann