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"Well, that is well done; you improve," I heard the Organist say, in tones of great satisfaction, while we were more noisily applauding; and Kate looked up in his face with such complete reliance on his judgment, and delight in his approbation, that I felt a strange thrill of vexation to think how dubious it was that such would ever be called forth by me.

Mr. Gilpin, now taking Miss Vernon's place at the piano, poured forth a beautiful "sinfonia," I think they call it; and Miss Vernon accepting the seat I vacated for her, sat listening and abstracted, her full eyes gazing on some imaginary object, unconscious of all around her; a slight tremor sometimes passing over her curved upper lip.

Rousing herself with an almost imperceptible sigh, she turned her eyes full on me, interrupting abruptly the long gaze in which I had indulged, "How beautiful! what a story that music seems to tell." At this moment the music, slow and of touching sadness, had glided by a succession of sweeping chords into a bolder and more martial strain.

"You have a great deal of imagination, Miss Vernon."

"That is a polite way of saying you are a visionary."

"No, no, there is nothing visionary about you, but I respect imagination."

"Then you are a rare specimen of your sex, Captain Egerton."

"Yes, we have less imagination, but then our life is much more practical."

"Has yours been a very practical life?"

"Mine! do not ask me to look at it."

She laughed low but merrily.

"This has been a delightful evening to me; I have to thank you for a peep into a new world, Miss Vernon."

"Oh, you like it because it is new; you would soon tire of our quiet world, and I do not see why I am to be thanked for it, grandpapa" —

"What was it brought me to A – ? solely my wish to see and apologise to you."

"Captain Egerton, you cannot suppose I will credit such a conte; besides, it is not necessary; you see how welcome an old Dungar friend is; why seek to render assurance doubly sure, by trying to persuade me you came here in search of a person to whose address neither you nor any one had the slightest clue?"

"Doubt my word if you will, Miss Vernon, I can only say that not many hours after you left the Angel Hotel, I there discovered traces, certainly faint enough, which were the cause of my visit here."

At the name of "The Angel," Miss Vernon started, colored slightly, and then with a smile said,

"Well, I can say nothing more. What a pity such energies as yours should be lost in H.M. Light Dragoons."

"Then you have no very high opinion of my profession?"

"Far otherwise, it is necessary, and what is necessary – "

"Kate, my dear, give us that serenade I like so much," said her grandfather.

Many a year is past since first those rich soft tones swelled on my ear, as Miss Vernon sang the following words, but they come back as vividly to my memory as if they had been heard but an hour ago!

 
"Sleep, Oh, beloved! while with Angel guard
I watch o'er thy soft repose;
May the silent sense of my sleepless love
Tinge thy dreams as thine eye lids close!
Sleep, Oh, beloved one! sleep.
 
 
"Breathe o'er her hushed and slumbering soul,
Spirit of truth and peace!
Whisper of Heaven, and love, and faith,
Bid doubt and dread to cease.
Sleep, Oh, sleep!
 
 
"Then wake with dewy rosy lips,
And eyes of deep calm bliss,
To greet the heart that yearns for thee,
With morning's loving kiss!
Sleep, oh, beloved! sleep."
 

The music was peculiar, and the last note of each verse sustained, and dying away with an expression of unutterable tenderness, made an indelible impression on me. "What a heart that girl must have," was my only clear idea, as I stood silent with folded arms, utterly unable to say a word of the exquisite pleasure she had afforded me.

"After that," said Winter, at the end of a chorus of applause, "not another word or note. Good night, Colonel; you Nightingale, la vostra bocca sana qual che tocca!"

I joined the others in making my adieus; heard something about Mr. Winter calling on me the next day, and walked to my hotel, through the moonlit streets in a state of trance, lulled by the music and indescribable effect of the whole evening, into a delicious calm, which raised me pro tem. far above all sublunary interests.

CHAPTER V.
SKETCHERS AND SKETCHES

How well I remember the philosophic contempt for wealth with which I awoke the following morning! Here, I thought, is grace, refinement, and good breeding, in unpretending guise, the very simplicity that surrounds them seems to give additional force to their effect – nothing appears out of place, no London bred cook or butler ever turned out a more delicious or better served repast, than Vernon's dinner yesterday. What is the magic of all this? Winter is a curious specimen of humanity, yet he filled up his niche in the little party as no one else could; nor can I fancy him out of his element in any society. What an extraordinary contrast between Kate and that little deformed organist! Unfortunate creature, and yet he appears perfectly happy! With what empressement the old Colonel and his sweet granddaughter welcome him. And Kate herself, there is so much happiness in the calm repose of her countenance, and her brilliant smile; one would imagine her to be of fortune's favourites, the most favoured, yet what a life of complete retirement she must lead. She said she had not worn an evening dress for two years, till at that lucky ball. Is her society made up of a brace and a half of oddities and a big dog? I wonder how my sister Mary or Lady Georgina Lorton, or fifty others of my acquaintance, would stand such a life. They talk of a couple of months at the family seat, as if it was a life-long banishment on some desolate island. Yes, it must be a terrible life for her, cut off from all the bienséances of society – but where could I have spent so pleasant an evening? Where else have been so little bored by hacknied conversation? Thus I wandered through the vast field of speculation, opened up to my imagination by my yesterday's adventure. I could not bring myself to compassionate Vernon for his evident change of fortune, such a companionship and such a cottage must be well worth Dungar with all its beauties. Though, to be sure, he would have had Kate there; her manner, too, so unlike that of most women I had met. It never appeared to challenge admiration or to expect les petits soins; all was frank, cordial, kindly, real, yet monstrously unflattering to one's amour propre; though at times there was a tinge of coquetry in her way of evading, or turning into ridicule any attempt at a compliment. She certainly is charming, and I must make the best of my time while I am here; I suppose I must return to-morrow, so —

"Mr. Winter" – said the waiter.

"Good morning, Captain Egerton," said that worthy personage, apparently through a thicker stratum of mashed potatoes than ever, "I thought I'd catch you before you started on any explorations."

"You are very good; I am particularly fortunate in securing such a cicerone."

"I am very happy to be of any use to you; sketching, I fancy, is not a common taste among men of your profession?"

"I have encountered a good many draughtsmen among my brothers in arms, and it is always a useful accomplishment for military men, but I do not think it is a common taste in my profession."

"No, the learned professions have no room for beauty in their crowded life, and the idleness of yours is generally too strenuous for – but I am blunt."

"You say but the truth, Mr. Winter; yet we are not on the whole as black as we are painted. Who is? This old town seems rich in antiquities."

"Yes, there is nothing in England like it, and, as Miss Vernon says, its solemn rugged towers and churches give the idea of a calm but stern old age after a stormy impetuous youth."

"How agreeable Colonel Vernon is; I was very glad to meet him again."

"Yes, he is a perfect specimen of a style fast disappearing. I always wish to see him at the head of some noble establishment, because I am a fool – much better for him as it is."

This was uttered with great impatience of manner, and I listened to it with no small amazement.

"Better?" I echoed.

"Yes, sir," reiterated Winter sharply, "it takes a severer bit to break a high mettled steed into useful paces than your half breeds require! But do you feel inclined for a stroll this morning?"

I replied in the affirmative, and we sallied forth together.

I walked on silently, revolving my companion's last sentence, and voting it terribly harsh, yet not liking to draw him into any discussion of it, as I felt instinctively that we viewed life through different media.

He led the way through a narrow gloomy street, overhung by the upper stories of the houses, and garnished with a species of gallery, to which these projections served as a roof.

"There," said he, pausing, "is the old residence of the Bishops of – , and a very curious building it is."

I looked with great interest at the heavy carved gables, adorned with royal and episcopal arms, and divided into compartments containing carved representations of Adam and Eve, a tree and a serpent, all of equal dimensions, Cain and Abel, Balaam and his Ass, Abraham, in trunk hose, about to sacrifice Isaac on a small reading desk, with various other specimens of carving. The wooden pillars supporting the fabric over the gallery I have mentioned were carved and twisted into the most grotesque and awsome shapes, which only some tortured spirit could have imagined!

"This alone is worth a visit," said I, after a long and curious gaze. "What may be the age of this building?"

"That is not easy to say. The initials on that centre scutcheon, 'J. R.,' you see, would lead us to suppose it was not older than the beginning of the seventeenth century, but it has always appeared to me that these letters and the coat of arms they surmount are of a more modern date than the other ornaments on the building or the building itself; but though I have searched some old chronicles I cannot satisfy myself on the subject."

"At all events it shall be No. 1 of my sketches. Have you no favourite theory as to its date?" I asked.

"No, I always endeavour to curb imagination."

"And you an artist!" said I.

"Yes," he replied, "in my studio imagination is a welcome guest, but even there she must submit to the bridle. She may create materials for a subject, but should never be allowed to tamper with those already in existence?"

"I do not like your view on this point; surely imagination is the source of much exquisite and innocent pleasure?"

"I see," said Winter, "you will side with my fair antagonist, Miss Vernon; she talks whole volumes of the prettiest fantasies on this subject, and never has patience to hear my solemn assurance that imagination, though a grand and glorious gift, requires strong coercion. But then we never agree, although we are fast friends."

"My dear Sir," I exclaimed, with some warmth, "you and I may require to rein up ours occasionally, but I do not suppose Miss Vernon's imagination ever presents any but the holiest images."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Winter, "ha! ha! Kate is a more than commonly good girl, but she's not an angel; – I would not love her half so well if she was! And, take my advice, do not tell her your opinion of her, or in spite of her having nearly as brilliant a fancy as your own, she'll make you laugh at yourself!" I had too much savoir faire not to receive this sally with a smiling acknowledgment of its wisdom, although it grated on my feelings; and in my heart I experienced a sensation approximating to a lively hatred to my intelligent cicerone, who continued – "I have made several sketches of this old house, but I find that carved front does not tell well in a picture; large proportions, plenty of light and shade, are what we want for effect."

From this point a neighbouring flight of steps conducted us to the walls, from which we gazed on many a lovely picture; Winter expatiating on their peculiar beauties as a connoisseur dwells on the excellences of some oft-studied chef d'œuvre of art.

"As for the legends," said he, "in which every inch of this ground is rich, you must get Miss Vernon to tell them to you; I would make a sad olla podrida of them were I to try; but she is perfect in it, and, with Gilpin's assistance, has acquired some large additions lately."

"That Mr. Gilpin seems an oddity," I observed.

"Yes, poor fellow! and yet if his form was as straight as his heart, you would find few as beautiful. It would be impossible to tell all the good he does, and that with the miserable stipend of an Organist. Carambo! he might put our pampered priests to the blush, if such a thing were possible."

"He seems to be a great favourite with the Colonel and Miss Vernon," said I.

"Yes," returned Winter, "there is no one ranks so high in Miss Vernon's estimation. What between his music and misfortunes, he has got the entrée of her heart completely. His father was a clergyman of a respectable north country race, blessed, of course, with small means and a large family. I fancy poor Gilpin's must have been a sorry lot among a number of rough Northumberland lads; his deformity shut him out from arms, church, bar, and every profession; so he draws an indifferent existence from the art he so much loves. An invalid sister lived here with him. It seems their better-to-do brothers remembered to forget their unaspiring relatives, and the quiet neglected organist and his sister were all in all to each other, until about a year after the Vernons settled here, when, after a long and steady decline, she died in the same gentle unobtrusive manner she had lived, and poor Gilpin has been a lonely man since."

"It is impossible," continued Winter, striking his stick against the ground and speaking more thickly, which I began to perceive he usually did when excited, "it is impossible to describe Kate Vernon's thoughtful delicate kindness to the poor forlorn creature; faith, sir, it makes me ready to admit she is an angel when I think of it."

I mentally retracted my previous conclusions touching the speaker.

"Humph, ha!" said Mr. Winter, wiping his forehead, "I wonder what induced me to prose away about an unfortunate hump-backed organist to a moustached man of fashion; I am a great fool!"

"Mr. Winter," said I, gravely, "you must think moustaches and fashion terrible petrifiers of the heart, if you imagine such a tale as you have just sketched could excite no interest or sympathy in mine; believe me, there are few so thoroughly good for nothing, and I trust I am not in the minority."

"Cospetto" exclaimed the impetuous little man, "I don't think you are; and, Captain Egerton, do not set me down as a gruff uncourteous dog. You see what I am when I let out; am I not right to keep both bit and bridle on my imagination? Now I must leave you, as I have some business to attend – rather an unusual thing for me. I'll trot you out to-morrow, or any time you like, but I think I have put you on the best track for the present."

"Thanks to your judicious guidance; yes, I have enjoyed the ramble I assure you."

"Well," resumed he, "in disavowal of fashion and petrifaction, will you drink tea with Mrs. Winter and myself at half-past six this evening. I'll make the Vernons come. I have lived so much on the Continent that I cannot get into the absurdity of fashionable English dinner hours, but take mine when my stomach cries cupboard, which is generally at two o'clock."

"I shall be most happy," said I.

"Well, good morning, be diligent; by the way look in early, shew me the result of your labours, and take a peep at my studio."

"A thousand thanks, yes."

It was still early, too early I thought for a visit to the Priory House, so arming myself with sketch book and pencil, I returned to an old tumble down carriers' inn, which had struck my eye while rambling with Winter, and commenced transferring it to paper; while my mind was filled with another picture, that drawn by Winter, of the lonely deformed organist and the angelic kindness of Kate Vernon.

"What a fate!" I exclaimed aloud; but with the sounds of my own voice, came the recollection of the peculiarly peaceful expression of his face! There was no misery of look, none of that restlessness which the perpetual mortification of such a life might well be expected to produce. "No, he is happy! happier perhaps than I am, with youth and health and this straight strong frame, and my rightful place among the nobles of the land; and wealth —halte la! have I wealth? Yes, compared with him, but by no means sufficient to marry. Then I never dreamt of marrying. No! I have every thing, and this poor fellow nothing, and yet, would he change with me? By Jove, I'd take the long odds he has not a dunning tailor; that's an item in my 'haves,' and his 'has nots,' I forgot to enumerate; but its must now be time to call on Kate.

 
"To greet the heart that yearns for thee."
 

I cannot get that air out of my head."

The sun, which had all the morning been obscured by heavy clouds, shone out with the brilliancy and warmth of June rather than September. As I entered the little garden before Colonel Vernon's cottage I paused a moment in the vain endeavour to decipher the inscription over the gateway; a B, a C, and a very faint D were all I could make out.

"The masther's out, but Miss Kate's within, Sir," was Nurse's reply to my queries.

"And I hope you are quite well yourself, Mrs. O'Toole," said I, in a state of beatitude.

"Indeed, an' I am, sir, glory be to God," and she opened the door, saying familiarly, "here's the Captin, Miss Kate."

Miss Vernon was seated at a writing table in the window, copying out of the large dusky book the organist had given her. The window was open, and the light breeze gently stirred the white muslin curtains, and brought a thousand delicious odours from the garden and fields; while beyond it river and rocks, and swelling upland and woods, and the distant spire of a village church, lay bathed in a flood of glowing golden light, which seemed to endue every object with beauty by the sole agency of colour.

Kate rose to receive me with her sparkling smile, dispelling the gentle gravity which always characterised her countenance when in repose, and made it so strangely different according as her mood changed.

"Then you have missed grandpapa," said she, giving me her hand, "I told him I thought you would be out from what I heard you say to Mr. Winter last night."

A quick impulse of vanity suggested – "could she have remained at home in expectation of my advent?" but a glance at her bonnet and shawl, as if just thrown off, and the slight disorder in the rich masses of her hair, completed my conviction that she had but just come in.

"How sorry I am to have missed Colonel Vernon," said I, hypocritically; "I have been all the morning rambling about with your friend Mr. Winter, and have to thank you for introducing me to so admirable a guide."

"I knew you would like him; but sit down, I am sure grandpapa will return soon. I see he did not intend to go farther than your Hotel, or he would have taken Cormac."

And she pointed to the grave old hound, who lay stretched in the sunshine before the window and had partly risen on my appearance.

I drew a chair opposite Miss Vernon, who resumed her occupation.

"I am writing out the parts of some chants separately," said she, "not a very absorbing employment; Mr. Gilpin wishes his choir to get them up, and I volunteered my services."

"Rather troublesome," said I, absently.

"Oh no," said she, "I have nothing particular to do just now, and it is so dull to be idle."

"I fancy A – , delightful as it is in our antiquarian or picturesque point of view, must be rather too tranquil a sojourn for so accomplished a valseuse as yourself."

"I should have quite as little society anywhere else, and not half so many real agrémens; I never find it dull."

"How does the Colonel amuse himself?"

"Ah!" cried Miss Vernon with great earnestness, "I often think of that; it is such a change for him; such a total break-up of all his accustomed ways. I am often at my wits end to amuse him, yet he bears it wonderfully; how do you think him looking?"

"Wonderfully well! never better, but in this sweet place with you he cannot be unhappy."

"God forbid he should – a little sad sometimes."

She was silent for a few moments, and then resumed her pen. I cannot describe how charming this visit was to me. Miss Vernon's little white hand wrote on busily all the time, while sometimes glancing up at me, but generally looking at her work. I felt none of the gêne of a formal tête à tête, where the visitor and visited sit both upright, compelled to stare at each other; but leaning back in my chair, I talked and gazed at my ease.

"I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses that I am in calm conversation with the incognita who so puzzled me," I resumed after a pause.

"Yes, it is very curious, but still more so that the discovery of our mutual acquaintance with Lady Desmond led to no dénouement," said my companion.

"I knew her no further than meeting her frequently in society in Dublin, where I was about four years ago, with a cousin of mine, who was on the staff."

"She is a second cousin of grandpapa's, and I was a good deal with her just before we came here: not long, I fancy, after you had known her; and knowing how general her parties and invitations were, I really at one time imagined I might have met you at some of them: I little thought what a much older acquaintance I was dancing with."

"She is a handsome woman," I observed, "and, I fancy, not unlike Colonel Vernon."

"How brilliant and how kind she is," she exclaimed, "I often wonder the hurried life she leads gives her space to breathe! I doubt if she has time to be happy."

"Happy! Miss Vernon: do you think happiness is to be found in the stagnation that some dignify with the name of tranquillity? My least distinct idea of happiness is the hopeful exertion of every faculty – mental and physical – in search of what we never find; but inaction is misery."

"There is some truth in what you say," replied she, "but all my ideas of happiness here and hereafter, are concentrated in the word 'peace!'" – and she paused, and gazed out into the sunshine with such an expression of calm, – of harmony, if I may so term it – that I felt tempted to ask her what spell had stilled her heart into such deep repose.

"Did you make any sketches this morning?" she asked, rousing herself from her thoughts.

"One or two rough outlines; but I think I could make a very good picture from this spot," said I, rising to look through the window.

"Then," said Miss Vernon eagerly, "pray, pray do, Captain Egerton, and give it to me; it will be an inexpressible pleasure to me to have some memento of this quiet, happy spot, when I am, perhaps, far away."

"I will set about it to-morrow; but have you any notion of leaving A – ?" I asked.

"Oh no, – I only spoke from a presentiment I often feel, that we will not always rest calmly in this quiet nook; the waters of life will rise some day, and sweep us out again into the noise and tumult of the world!"

Here the old dog, disturbed by my movement, slowly raised himself, and entering by the window, laid his large stern head, with a sort of sigh, on his mistress's arm.

"Ah, Cormac, good old friend," said she, putting her arm caressingly round him, "no tumult, however rough, shall separate us; you and I, and grandpapa, and nurse, a goodly company, n'est ce pas?" —

"Captain Egerton," said she, rallying and laughing, "don't quiz my presentiments, but sketch me this scene."

"With the greatest pleasure; and now I remember, I have some old drawings of Dungar somewhere: I'll look out for them, and bring them over here the next time I come."

"Oh thanks, a thousand hearty thanks: they will be treasures to me, indeed, and to grandpapa! When will you come again?"

"I can hardly hope for a repetition of my delightful visit for ten days or a fortnight: but on the first possibility of leave I will return."

"Do you know I took a long walk with nurse this morning; we had some business in that wood I showed you from the dining room, and I saw so many beautiful pictures en route; I must show you the walk. I do not think Mr. Winter knows it very well, we cross a delightful ferry to get to it, and – "

The door opened and the Colonel entered.

"Ah! Egerton, I have just been to your hotel, they told me you had gone out only a few minutes before, and I thought it likely you would make your way over here; I met Winter, Kate, and he dragged me off to pass sentence on a pony he wants to buy, which he described as a quiet, gentle animal Mrs. Winter might herself drive; but I saw at a glance that the creature was blind of one eye, at least, and I strongly suspect he is broken winded; however, I rather fancy Winter has set his heart on the purchase, for the pony has a shaggy picturesque appearance, and would look charmingly in a sketch, with a few autumnal trees. Oh! I feel a little fagged; – and have you done much in the way of sketching, this morning, Egerton?"

"No, indeed, Colonel, I do not feel sufficiently at home here yet; I have not got my eye familiarised to the style of the place; I intend to make great progress to-morrow. I cannot tell you how charmed I am with this old town, it is so utterly dissimilar to Carrington, and its abominations."

"Ah!" said the Colonel, "the tone of society is not very thorough-bred there, I suppose; but are you quite just in judging the worthy citizens, by a standard they were never intended either by nature or art to reach?"

"That is a question I have never asked myself, and probably never shall."

"Good breeding," continued Colonel Vernon, "must be innate often; there's Winter, you see, he has evidently risen from the ranks, yet one feels at ease in his society, and free from all chance of his rubbing you up the wrong way, as parvenus are apt to do."

"Winter belongs to a class distinct from, and superior to class distinctions."

"We are allies, from this moment, Captain Egerton," said Miss Vernon.

"By the way, Kate, Mrs. Winter wants you to drink tea with her this evening; I have promised for you and myself," observed her grandfather.

"Of course, I like to drink tea at the abbey gardens; everything is so pleasant and friendly; are you to be of our party, Captain Egerton?"

"I am happy to say, yes."

"Then you had better join our early dinner, for Winter piques himself on keeping continental hours, and I believe his tea is considerably earlier than a London dejeunér" said the Colonel.

"Many thanks, my dear sir, but I have already eaten a substantial luncheon, and intend acquitting myself with credit at Mrs. Winter's tea table."

"Oh!" said Miss Vernon, laughing, "some prophetic vision must have warned you, that she is famous for hot cakes."

"New style of life this, eh! Egerton?"

"I enjoy it extremely, and you Colonel. I cannot fancy any thing more opposite to your life in Ireland."

"True, true," he replied, "yet I am very happy. Then, at my age, a placid routine, unexciting, and calm, is naturally congenial; I sometimes wish for a little more fellow-feeling on particular points than Winter or even Gilpin can offer me. Kate is generally a great sympathiser, but I confess, my dear Egerton, that a little chat with you on old times and topics does me infinite good."

"Captain Egerton says he will come back soon again, grandpapa, and bring me some sketches he has of dear Dungar."

"A treasure trove, Kate! But must you leave us so immediately?"

"I regret to say my leave expires to-morrow evening; I must return to Carrington, but will take the last train, half-past eight I think; and now I will say good-bye until this evening, Colonel. I want to get a few more outlines into my portfolio before Mrs. Winter's hot cakes are ready. Au revoir, Miss Vernon."

The Colonel and Cormac accompanied me to the door, which Nurse opened with a gracious smile. "Not a step further, Colonel Vernon, you are fatigued; Mrs. O'Toole, I commend the Colonel to your care, adieu." And as I walked away I heard confused and glowing eulogiums pronounced by Mrs. O'Toole on some person or persons unknown, in which she seemed to dwell particularly on the facility of distinguishing between "The rale ould ancient stock, and ye'r musherooms," terms of approbation my vanity somehow or other appropriated, though the connection was by no means clear.

With military punctuality I was raising the well burnished brass knocker which adorned Winter's door as the cathedral clock chimed six. A trim little damsel answered the summons, and informed me with a rather frightened air, that "Missis was in." She ushered me up stairs to a large, handsomely furnished room, where sat Mrs. Winter in the identical cap she had worn at the ball. I could have sworn to it in any court in the kingdom.

She received me with the slight nervousness of manner I had before observed, but we had hardly exchanged salutations when Winter appeared, and carried me off to his studio. "While there was any light," he said, "it was well worth a visit." Studies of trees in every season, architectural drawings of great beauty, rugged old men and women, rosy chubby children, some few strong deep subjects – a mine of pictorial wealth; and the grand characteristic of each and all was truth; nothing seemed beneath his pencil, nor a single object misplaced on his canvas. I felt that a glance at his studio revealed the man more than the most elaborate description of his character could have done. I began to understand his views of imagination.

Mr. Winter had just pronounced it becoming too dark to judge fairly his productions, when the little maid entered and informed him that tea and the company were waiting; we returned to the drawing room, where we found the Colonel and Miss Vernon, Gilpin, and a tall dried up looking woman in a yellow turban, assembled round a large table, which groaned, or ought to have groaned, under piles of delicately brown hot cakes, multitudes of little round pats of butter, each adorned with a cowslip in bas relief, and a massive tea equipage. There was a cheerful buzz of conversation, with a pleasant accompaniment of hissing from a portly tea urn that sent forth volumes of steam.