In which Old Friends come together

We made the descent of Snowhill, we passed by the miry pens of Smithfield; we travel through the street of St. John, and presently reach the ancient gateway¹, in Cistercian Square, where lies the old Hospital of Grey Friars. I passed through the gate, my fair young companion on my arm, and made my way to the rooms occupied by brother Newcome.

As we traversed the court the Poor Brothers were coming from dinner. A couple of score, or more, of old gentlemen in black gowns, issued from the door of their refectory, and separated over the court, betaking themselves to their chambers³. Ethel’s arm trembled under mine as she looked at one and another, expecting to behold⁵ her dear uncle’s familiar features. But he was not among the brethren. We went to his chamber⁴, of which the door was open: a female attendant was arranging the room; she told us Colonel Newcome was out for the day, and thus our journey had been made in vain.

Ethel went round the apartment and surveyed its simple decorations; she looked at the pictures of Clive and his boy; the two sabres crossed over the mantelpiece, the Bible laid on the table, by the old latticed window. She walked slowly up to the humble⁷ bed, and sat down on a chair near it. No doubt her heart prayed for him who slept there; she turned round where his black pensioner’s cloak was hanging on the wall, and lifted up the homely⁸ garment, and kissed it. The servant looked on admiring, I should think, her melancholy⁹ and her gracious beauty. I whispered to the woman that the young lady was the Colonel’s niece. “He has a son who comes here, and is very handsome, too,” said the attendant.

The two women spoke¹⁰ together for a while. “Oh, miss!” cried the elder and humbler, evidently astonished at some

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