I sometimes wish I had been an abbot myself.  I should have made a rare father confessor—­especially to a pretty penitent.  Here, Gregory, hie thee to the master cellarer, and bid him fill me a goblet of the old Rhenish—­the wine from the abbot’s cellar.  Thou understandest—­or, stay, better bring the flask.  I have a profound respect for the venerable bottle, and would pay my devoirs to it.  Hie away, good fellow!”

“You will drink too much if you go on thus,” remarked Richard.

“Not a drop,” rejoined Nicholas.  “I am blithe as a lark, and would keep so.  That is why I drink.  But to return to our ghosts.  Since this place must be haunted, I would it were visited by spirits of a livelier kind than old Paslew.  There is Isole de Heton, for instance.  The fair votaress would be the sort of ghost for me.  I would not turn my back on her, but face her manfully.  Look at her picture, Dick.  Was ever countenance sweeter than hers—­lips more tempting, or eyes more melting!  Is she not adorable?  Zounds!” he exclaimed, suddenly pausing, and staring at the portrait—­“Would you believe it, Dick?  The fair Isole winked at me—­I’ll swear she did.  I mean—­I will venture to affirm upon oath, if required, that she winked.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Richard.  “The fumes of the wine have mounted to your brain, and disordered it.”

“No such thing,” cried Nicholas, regarding the picture as steadily as he could—­“she’s leering at me now.  By the Queen of Paphos! another wink.  Nay, if you doubt me, watch her well yourself.  A pleasant adventure this—­ha!—­ha!”

“A truce to this drunken foolery,” cried Richard, moving away.

“Drunken! s’death! recall that epithet, Dick,” cried Nicholas, angrily.  “I am no more drunk than yourself, you dog.  I can walk as steadily, and see as plainly, as you; and I will maintain it at the point of the sword, that the eyes of that picture have lovingly regarded me; nay, that they follow me now.”

“A common delusion with a portrait,” said Richard; “they appear to follow me.”

“But they do not wink at you as they do at me,” said Nicholas, “neither do the lips break into smiles, and display the pearly teeth beneath them, as occurs in my case.  Grim old abbots frown on you, but fair, though frail, votaresses smile on me.  I am the favoured mortal, Dick.”

“Were it as you represent, Nicholas,” replied Richard, gravely, “I should say, indeed, that some evil principle was at work to lure you through your passions to perdition.  But I know they are all fancies engendered by your heated brain, which in your calmer moments you will discard, as I discard them now.  If I have any weight with you, I counsel you to drink no more, or you will commit some mad foolery, of which you will be ashamed hereafter.  The discreeter course would be to retire altogether; and for this you have ample excuse, as you will have to arise betimes to-morrow, to set out for Pendle Forest with Master Potts.”