th minute wrinkles. I confess that so entirely was my
attention engrossed by what was passing in my mind, that, though I felt
mightily confused, I was not startled (in the emphatic sense) by the
apparition. In fact, I deemed it to be some old lady, perhaps a
housekeeper, or dependent in the family, and, therefore, though rather
astonished, was by no means frightened by my visitant, supposing me to
be awake, which I am convinced was the case, though few persons believe
me on this point.

My own impression is that I stared somewhat rudely, in the wonder of the
moment, at the hard, but lady-like features of my aged visitor. But she
left me small time to think, addressing me in a familiar half-whisper
and with a constant restless motion of the hand which aged persons, when
excited, often exhibit in addressing the young. "Well, young lady," said
my mysterious companion, "and so you've been at yon hall to-night! and
highly ye've been delighted there! Yet if you could see as I can see, or
could know as I can know, troth! I guess your pleasure would abate. 'Tis
well for you, young lady, peradventure, ye see not with my eyes"--and at
the moment, sure enough, her eyes, which were small, grey, and in no way
remarkable, twinkled with a light so severe that the effect was
unpleasant in the extreme. "'Tis well for you and them," she continued,
"that ye cannot count the cost. Time was when hospitality could be kept
in England, and the guest not ruin the master of the feast--but that's
all vanished now: pride and poverty--pride and poverty, young lady, are
an ill-matched pair, Heaven kens!" My tongue, which had at first almost
faltered in its office, now found utterance. By a kind of instinct, I
addressed my strange visitant in her own manner and humour. "And are we,
then, so much poorer than in days of yore?" were the words that I spoke.
My visitor seemed half startled at the sound of my voice, as at
something unaccustomed, and went on, rather answering my question by
implication than directly: "'Twas not all hollowness then," she
exclaimed, ceasing somewhat her hollow whisper; "the land was then the
lord's, and that which _seemed, was_. The child, young lady, was not
then mortgaged in the cradle, and, mark ye, the bride, when she kneeled
at the altar, gave not herself up, body and soul, to be the bondswoman
of the Jew, but to be the helpmate of the spouse." "The Jew!" I
exclaimed in surprise, for then I understood not the allusion. "A