Haggard, exhausted², and in no very pleasant temper, Henry Ashwoode rode up the avenue of Morley Court.

 

"I shall have a blessed conference with my father," thought he, "when he learns the fate of the thousand pounds I was to have brought him—a pleasant interview, by ——. How shall I open it? He'll be no better than a Bedlamite. By ——, a pretty hot kettle of fish this—but through it I must flounder as best I may—curse it, what am I afraid of?"

 

Thus muttering, he leaped from the saddle, leaving the well-trained steed to make his way to the stable, and entered at the half open door. In the hall he encountered a servant, but was too much occupied by his own busy reflections to observe the earnest, awe-struck countenance³ of the old domestic.

 

"Mr. Henry—Mr. Henry—stay, sir—stay—one moment," said the man, following and endeavouring to detain him.

 

Ashwoode, however, without heeding⁴ the interruption, hastened by him, and mounted the stairs with long and rapid strides, resolved not unnecessarily to defer⁵ the interview which he believed must come sooner or later. He opened Sir Richard's door, and entered the chamber⁶. He looked round the room for the object of his search in vain; but to his unmeasured astonishment⁷, beheld⁸ instead three old shrivelled hags seated by the hearth⁹, who all rose upon his entrance, except one, who was warming something in a saucepan upon the fire, and each and all resumed respectively the visages of

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