ou said you were Sir Geoffrey's son. But no
matter--'tis a wise child that knows his own father. And here is Sir
Geoffrey's cell; so you and he may settle the fatherhood between you."

So saying, he ushered his prisoner into a cell, or rather a strong room
of the better order, in which there were four chairs, a truckle-bed, and
one or two other articles of furniture.

Julian looked eagerly around for his father; but to his surprise the
room appeared totally empty. He turned with anger on the turnkey, and
charged him with misleading him; but the fellow answered, "No, no,
master; I have kept faith with you. Your father, if you call him so, is
only tappiced in some corner. A small hole will hide him; but I'll rouse
him out presently for you.--Here, hoicks!--Turn out, Sir Geoffrey!--Here
is--Ha, ha, ha!--your son--or your wife's son--for I think you have but
little share in him--come to wait on you."

Peveril knew not how to resent the man's insolence; and indeed his
anxiety, and apprehension of some strange mistake, mingled with, and in
some degree neutralised his anger. He looked again and again, around and
around the room; until at length he became aware of something rolled up
in a dark corner, which rather resembled a small bundle of crimson cloth
than any living creature. At the vociferation of the turnkey, however,
the object seemed to acquire life and motion, uncoiled itself in some
degree, and, after an effort or two, gained an erect posture; still
covered from top to toe with the crimson drapery in which it was at
first wrapped. Julian, at the first glance, imagined from the size that
he saw a child of five years old; but a shrill and peculiar tone of
voice soon assured him of his mistake.

"Warder," said this unearthly sound, "what is the meaning of this
disturbance? Have you more insults to heap on the head of one who hath
ever been the butt of fortune's malice? But I have a soul that can
wrestle with all my misfortunes; it is as large as any of your bodies."

"Nay, Sir Geoffrey, if this be the way you welcome your own son!" said
the turnkey; "but you quality folks know your own ways best."

"My son!" exclaimed the little figure. "Audacious----"

"Here is some strange mistake," said Peveril, in the same breath. "I
sought Sir Geoffrey----"

"And you have him before you, young man," said the pigmy tenant of the
cell, with an air of dignity; at the same time casting on the floor his
crimson cloak, and standi