.--What if 'the Dark Ladye'[I-14] should glide in
and occupy it?--would you have courage to stand the vision, Mr.
Tyrrel?--I assure you the thing is not impossible."

"_What_ is not impossible, Lady Penelope?" said Tyrrel, somewhat
surprised.

"Startled already?--Nay, then, I despair of your enduring the awful
interview."

"What interview? who is expected?" said Tyrrel, unable with the utmost
exertion to suppress some signs of curiosity, though he suspected the
whole to be merely some mystification of her ladyship.

"How delighted I am," she said, "that I have found out where you are
vulnerable!--Expected--did I say expected?--no, not expected.

'She glides, like Night, from land to land,
She hath strange power of speech.'

--But come, I have you at my mercy, and I will be generous and
explain.--We call--that is, among ourselves, you understand--Miss Clara
Mowbray, the sister of that gentleman that sits next to Miss Parker, the
Dark Ladye, and that seat is left for her.--For she was expected--no,
not expected--I forget again!--but it was thought _possible_ she might
honour us to-day, when our feast was so full and piquant.--Her brother
is our Lord of the Manor--and so they pay her that sort of civility to
regard her as a visitor--and neither Lady Binks nor I think of
objecting--She is a singular young person, Clara Mowbray--she amuses me
very much--I am always rather glad to see her."

"She is not to come hither to-day," said Tyrrel; "am I so to understand
your ladyship?"

"Why, it is past her time--even _her_ time," said Lady Penelope--"dinner
was kept back half an hour, and our poor invalids were famishing, as you
may see by the deeds they have done since.--But Clara is an odd
creature, and if she took it into her head to come hither at this
moment, hither she would come--she is very whimsical.--Many people think
her handsome--but she looks so like something from another world, that
she makes me always think of Mat Lewis's Spectre Lady."

And she repeated with much cadence,

"There is a thing--there is a thing,
I fain would have from thee;
I fain would have that gay gold ring,
O warrior, give it me!"

"And then you remember his answer:

'This ring Lord Brooke from his daughter took,
And a solemn oath he swore,
That that ladye my bride should be
When this crusade was o'er.'

You do figures as well as landscapes, I suppose, Mr. Tyrrel?--You shall
make a