vate
first,' said Cousin Knollys, laughing; and away she went under the guidance
of the mummy.

I had an account of this _tete-a-tete_ afterwards from Lady Knollys.

'When I saw him, my dear,' she said, 'I could hardly believe my eyes; such
white hair--such a white face--such mad eyes--such a death-like smile.
When I saw him last, his hair was dark; he dressed himself like a modern
Englishman; and he really preserved a likeness to the full-length portrait
at Knowl, that you fell in love with, you know; but, angels and ministers
of grace! such a spectre! I asked myself, is it necromancy, or is it
delirium tremens that has reduced him to this? And said he, with that
odious smile, that made me fancy myself half insane--

'"You see a change, Monica."

'What a sweet, gentle, insufferable voice he has! Somebody once told me
about the tone of a glass flute that made some people hysterical to listen
to, and I was thinking of it all the time. There was always a peculiar
quality in his voice.

'"I do see a change, Silas," I said at last; "and, no doubt, so do you in
me--a great change."

'"There has been time enough to work a greater than I observe in you since
you last honoured me with a visit," said he.

'I think he was at his old sarcasms, and meant that I was the same
impertinent minx he remembered long ago, uncorrected by time; and so I am,
and he must not expect compliments from old Monica Knollys.

'"It is a long time, Silas; but that, you know, is not my fault," said I.

'"Not your fault, my dear--your instinct. We are all imitative creatures:
the great people ostracised me, and the small ones followed. We are very
like turkeys, we have so much good sense and so much generosity. Fortune,
in a freak, wounded my head, and the whole brood were upon me, pecking and
gobbling, gobbling and pecking, and you among them, dear Monica. It wasn't
your fault, only your instinct, so I quite forgive you; but no wonder the
peckers wear better than the pecked. You are robust; and I, what I am."

'"Now, Silas, I have not come here to quarrel. If we quarrel now, mind, we
can never make it up--we are too old, so let us forget all we can, and try
to forgive something; and if we can do neither, at all events let there be
truce between us while I am here."

'"My personal wrongs I can quite forgive, and I do, Heaven knows, from my
heart; but there are things which ought not to be forgiven. My children
have been ruined by it. I may, b