The driver had rung the bell, and now turning back
to the chaise met Lionel’s inquiring eye, and
said, “Yes; Squire Darrell began to build that—many
years ago—when I was a boy. I heerd
say it was to be the show-house of the whole county.
Been stopped these ten or a dozen years.”
“Why?—do you know?”
“No one knows. Squire was a laryer, I
b’leve: perhaps he put it into Chancery.
My wife’s grandfather was put into Chancery
jist as he was growing up, and never grew afterwards:
never got out o’ it; nout ever does. There’s
our churchwarden comes to me with a petition to sign
agin the Pope. Says I, ’That old Pope
is always in trouble: what’s he bin doin’
now?’ Says he, ’Spreading! He’s
a-got into Parlyment, and he’s now got a colledge,
and we pays for it. I does n’t know how
to stop him.’ Says I, ’Put the Pope
into Chancery, along with wife’s grandfather,
and he’ll never spread agin.’”
The driver had thus just disposed of the Papacy, when
an elderly servant out of livery opened the door.
Lionel sprang from the chaise, and paused in some
confusion: for then, for the first time, there
darted across him the idea that he had never written
to announce his acceptance of Mr. Darrell’s
invitation; that he ought to have done so; that he
might not be expected. Meanwhile the servant
surveyed him with some surprise. “Mr.
Darrell?” hesitated Lionel, inquiringly.
“Not at home, sir,” replied the man, as
if Lionel’s business was over, and he had only
to re-enter his chaise. The boy was naturally
rather bold than shy, and he said, with a certain
assured air, “My name is Haughton. I come
here on Mr. Darrell’s invitation.”
The servant’s face changed in a moment; he bowed
respectfully. “I beg pardon, sir.
I will look for my master; he is somewhere on the
grounds.” The servant then approached the
fly, took out the knapsack, and, observing Lionel
had his purse in his hand, said, “Allow me to
save you that trouble, sir. Driver, round to
the stable-yard.” Stepping back into the
house, the servant threw open a door to the left, on
entrance, and advanced a chair. “If you
will wait here a moment, sir, I will seek for my master.”
Guy Darrell—and Stilled Life.
The room in which Lionel now found himself was singularly
quaint. An antiquarian or architect would have
discovered at a glance that at some period it had
formed part of the entrance-hall; and when, in Elizabeth’s
or James the First’s day, the refinement in manners
began to penetrate from baronial mansions to the homes
of the gentry, and the entrance-hall ceased to be
the common refectory of the owner and his dependants,
this apartment had been screened off by perforated
panels, which for the sake of warmth and comfort had
been filled up into solid wainscot by a succeeding
generation. Thus one side of the room was richly
carved with geometrical designs and arabesque pilasters,
