e than Mistress
Deborah Debbitch.

Instigated, doubtless, by the pristine reminiscences of former times, no
sooner had that most prudent and considerate dame found herself in the
vicinity of the scenes of her earlier days, than she bethought herself
of a visit to the ancient house-keeper of Martindale Castle, Dame
Ellesmere by name, who, long retired from active service, resided at
the keeper's lodge, in the west thicket, with her nephew, Lance Outram,
subsisting upon the savings of her better days, and on a small pension
allowed by Sir Geoffrey to her age and faithful services.

Now Dame Ellesmere and Mistress Deborah had not by any means been
formerly on so friendly a footing, as this haste to visit her might
be supposed to intimate. But years had taught Deborah to forget and
forgive; or perhaps she had no special objection, under cover of a visit
to Dame Ellesmere, to take the chance of seeing what changes time had
made on her old admirer the keeper. Both inhabitants were in the cottage
when, after having seen her master set forth on his expedition to the
Castle, Mistress Debbitch, dressed in her very best gown, footed it
through gutter, and over stile, and by pathway green, to knock at their
door, and to lift the hatch at the hospitable invitation which bade her
come in.

Dame Ellesmere's eyes were so often dim, that, even with the aid of
spectacles, she failed to recognise, in the portly and mature personage
who entered their cottage, the tight well-made lass, who, presuming
on her good looks and flippant tongue, had so often provoked her by
insubordination; and her former lover, the redoubted Lance, not being
conscious that ale had given rotundity to his own figure, which was
formerly so slight and active, and that brandy had transferred to
his nose the colour which had once occupied his cheeks, was unable to
discover that Deborah's French cap, composed of sarsenet and Brussels
lace, shaded the features which had so often procured him a rebuke from
Dr. Dummerar, for suffering his eyes, during the time of prayers, to
wander to the maid-servants' bench.

In brief, the blushing visitor was compelled to make herself known;
and when known, was received by aunt and nephew with the most sincere
cordiality.

The home-brewed was produced; and, in lieu of more vulgar food, a few
slices of venison presently hissed in the frying pan, giving strong room
for inference that Lance Outram, in his capacity of keeper, neglecte