is the repose which broods over it.
Encircled by battlemented walls, and standing in a wide demesne, a
stranger is at once struck with the unusual beauty of its surroundings.

Mr. Arundel's admiration rather disconcerted his friend.

"Come on, Arundel. Don't stare about like that; some of the family may
be at the windows."

But Mr. Arundel did not heed his friend's entreaty.

"Come on; it is so like a country clodhopper to stand looking at a big
house, as if you had never seen one before."

"I never have seen one before, in the least like this big house," was
the reply; "and what are those ruins? It is odd, Falconer, that you
never prepared me for the beautiful things I was to find in
Somersetshire."

"It's a mighty damp place," Melville said. "Rheumatism and low fever
haunt the servants' quarters, which are on a level with the moat; but,
my dear fellow, do come on."

"Can't we cross over to that old wall? It is like a glimpse of Paradise
through there."

"No, no, we must go up to the front like well-mannered folk. Come, don't
be so obstinate, Arundel."

Whether Melville would have succeeded in his attempts to draw his friend
towards the entrance-porch, which stood in the centre of a long line of
windows of the lower story of this side of the Palace, I do not know,
had not a clerical figure in knee-breeches and shovel hat, been seen
advancing over the emerald turf, and approaching the two young men.

[Illustration: Gateway of the Bishop's Palace, Wells.]

Melville began to show signs of nervousness, and the grand air which he
maintained to his inferiors gave place to a rather servile and
cringing manner, as he carefully removed his high narrow hat from his
curled head and, bowing low, said:

"My lord, my friend Mr. Arundel is anxious to pay his respects to you."

The bishop looked with keen grey eyes at Melville, and said stiffly:

"Mr. Falconer's son, I think?"

"Yes, my lord; your lordship's humble servant," again bowing till the
tails of his short-waisted coat stood up like those of a
robin-redbreast.

"Arundel, Arundel," the bishop repeated; "Arundel: the name is familiar
to me."

"My mother, my lord, had the honour of your lordship's acquaintance some
years ago. She was Annabella Thorndeane."

The bishop's somewhat stiff manner changed at once. He extended his
hand, and said:

"To have known your mother is to bear her always in affectionate
remembrance. Where is she living?"

"Since my f