the massy grandeur of its neglected years; and I am afraid
I loved the old house better with the weeds springing from its
crevices, than with all this carving and gilding, this ebony, and
iron, and light.

The people of Lexley imagined that nothing would induce the Sparks's
family to be seen under General Stanley's roof. But we were mistaken.
So much the contrary, that the squire of Lexley Park made a particular
point of being the first and latest of the guests--not only because
his reconciliation with his new neighbour was so recent, but from not
choosing to authenticate, by his absence, the rumours of his grievous
disappointment.

For all the good he was likely to derive from his visit, the poor man
had better have stayed away; for that unlucky night laid foundations
of evil for him and his, far greater than any he had incurred from the
animosity of Sir Laurence. Nay, when in the sequel these results
became matter of public commentation, superstitious people were not
wanting to hint that the evil spirit, traditionally said to haunt one
of the wings of the old manor, and to have manifested itself on more
than one occasion to members of the Altham family, (and more
especially to the late worthless proprietor of the Hall,) had acquired
a fatal power over the two supplanters of the ruined family the moment
they crossed the threshold.

General Stanley, after marrying late in life, had been some years a
widower--a widower with two daughters, his co-heiresses. The elder of
these young ladies was a hopeless invalid, slightly deformed, and so
little attractive in person, or desirous to attract, that there was
every prospect of the noble fortunes of the General centring in her
sister. Yet this sister, this girl, had little need of such an
accession to her charms; for she was one of those fortunate beings
endowed not only with beauty and excellence, but with a power of
pleasing not always united with even a combination of merit and
loveliness.

Every body agreed that Mary Stanley was charming. Old and young, rich
and poor, all loved her, all delighted in her. It is true, the good
rector's maiden sisters privately hinted to me their horror of the
recklessness with which--sometimes with her sister, oftener without,
but wholly unattended--she drove her little pony-chaise through the
village, laughing like a madcap at pranks of a huge Newfoundland dog
named Sergeant, the favourite of General Stanley, which, while
escorting the