ed feebly from the carriage, when the little lawyer, and the
gentleman in fur, nimbly jumped out of it.

They walked up the great moss-grown steps to the hall-door, and
a foreign attendant, with earrings and a gold-laced cap, pulled
strenuously at the great bell-handle at the cracked and sculptured gate.
The bell was heard clanging loudly through the vast gloomy mansion.
Steps resounded presently upon the marble pavement of the hall within;
and the doors opened, and finally Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper,
Polly, her aide-de-camp, and Smart, the keeper, appeared bowing humbly.

Smart, the keeper, pulled the wisp of hay-coloured hair which adorned
his sunburnt forehead, kicked out his left heel as if there were a
dog biting at his calves, and brought down his head to a bow. Old Mrs
Blenkinsop dropped a curtsey. Little Polly, her aide-de-camp, made a
curtsey and several rapid bows likewise; and Mrs. Blenkinsop, with a
great deal of emotion, quavered out, "Welcome to Clavering, Sir Francis.
It du my poor eyes good to see one of the family once more."

The speech and the greetings were all addressed to the grand gentleman
in fur and braiding, who wore his hat so magnificently on one side, and
twirled his mustachios so royally. But he burst out laughing, and said,
"You've saddled the wrong horse, old lady--I'm not Sir Francis Clavering
what's come to revisit the halls of my ancestors. Friends and vassals!
behold your rightful lord!"

And he pointed his hand towards the pale, languid gentleman who said,
"Don't be an ass, Ned."

"Yes, Mrs. Blenkinsop, I'm Sir Francis Clavering; I recollect you quite
well. Forgot me, I suppose?--How dy do?" and he took the old lady's
trembling hand; and nodded in her astonished face, in a not unkind
manner.

Mrs. Blenkinsop declared upon her conscience that she would have known
Sir Francis anywhere, that he was the very image of Sir Francis, his
father, and of Sir John who had gone before.

"O yes--thanky--of course--very much obliged--and that sort of thing,"
Sir Francis said, looking vacantly about the hall "Dismal old place,
ain't it, Ned? Never saw it but once, when my governor quarrelled with
gwandfather in the year twenty-thwee.

"Dismal?--beautiful!--the Castle of Otranto!--the Mysteries of Udolpho,
by Jove!" said the individual addressed as Ned. "What a fireplace! You
might roast an elephant in it. Splendid carved gallery! Inigo Jones, by
Jove! I'd lay five to two it's Inigo J