ets of apartments in the ancient building
termed the Savoy.

This antiquated and almost ruinous pile occupied a part of the site of
the public offices in the Strand, commonly called Somerset House. The
Savoy had been formerly a palace, and took its name from an Earl of
Savoy, by whom it was founded. It had been the habitation of John of
Gaunt, and various persons of distinction--had become a convent, an
hospital, and finally, in Charles II.'s time, a waste of dilapidated
buildings and ruinous apartments, inhabited chiefly by those who had
some connection with, or dependence upon, the neighbouring palace of
Somerset House, which, more fortunate than the Savoy, had still
retained its royal title, and was the abode of a part of the Court, and
occasionally of the King himself, who had apartments there.

It was not without several inquiries, and more than one mistake, that,
at the end of a long and dusky passage, composed of boards so wasted by
time that they threatened to give way under his feet, Julian at
length found the name of Martin Christal, broker and appraiser, upon a
shattered door. He was about to knock, when some one pulled his cloak;
and looking round, to his great astonishment, which indeed almost
amounted to fear, he saw the little mute damsel, who had accompanied him
for a part of the way on his voyage from the Isle of Man.

"Fenella!" he exclaimed, forgetting that she could neither hear nor
reply,--"Fenella! Can this be you?"

Fenella, assuming the air of warning and authority, which she had
heretofore endeavoured to adopt towards him, interposed betwixt Julian
and the door at which he was about to knock--pointed with her finger
towards it in a prohibiting manner, and at the same time bent her brows,
and shook her head sternly.

After a moment's consideration, Julian could place but one
interpretation upon Fenella's appearance and conduct, and that was, by
supposing her lady had come up to London, and had despatched this mute
attendant, as a confidential person, to apprise him of some change of
her intended operations, which might render the delivery of her letters
to Barstow, _alias_ Fenwicke, superfluous, or perhaps dangerous. He made
signs to Fenella, demanding to know whether she had any commission from
the Countess. She nodded. "Had she any letter?" he continued, by the
same mode of inquiry. She shook her head impatiently, and, walking
hastily along the passage, made a signal to him to follow. He d