XLIV.

It was about five in the afternoon of a summer's day, that Henry and his
son left the sign of the Mermaid to pursue their third day's journey: the
young man's spirits elated with the prospect of the reception he should
meet from Rebecca: the elder dejected at not having received a speedy
welcome from his brother.

The road which led to Anfield by the shortest course of necessity took
our travellers within sight of the bishop's palace. The turrets appeared
at a distance; and on the sudden turn round the corner of a large
plantation, the whole magnificent structure was at once exhibited before
his brother's astonished eyes. He was struck with the grandeur of the
habitation; and, totally forgetting all the unkind, the contemptuous
treatment he had ever received from its owner (like the same Henry in his
earlier years), smiled with a kind of transport "that William was so
great a man."

After this first joyous sensation was over, "Let us go a little nearer,
my son," said he; "no one will see us, I hope; or, if they should, you
can run and conceal yourself; and not a creature will know me; even my
brother would not know me thus altered; and I wish to take a little
farther view of his fine house, and all his pleasure grounds."

Young Henry, though impatient to be gone, would not object to his
father's desire. They walked forward between a shady grove and a purling
rivulet, snuffed in odours from the jessamine banks, and listened to the
melody of an adjoining aviary.

The allurements of the spot seemed to enchain the elder Henry, and he at
length sauntered to the very avenue of the dwelling; but, just as he had
set his daring yet trembling feet upon the turf which led to the palace
gates, he suddenly stopped, on hearing, as he thought, the village clock
strike seven, which reminded him that evening drew on, and it was time to
go. He listened again, when he and his son, both together, said, "It is
the toll of the bell before some funeral."

The signals of death, while they humble the rich, inspire the poor with
pride. The passing bell gave Henry a momentary sense of equality; and he
courageously stepped forward to the first winding of the avenue.

He started back at the sight which presented itself.

A hearse--mourning coaches--mutes--plumed horses--with every other token
of the person's importance who was going to be committed to the earth.

Scarcely had his terrified eyes been thus unexpectedly struck,