The Tenants of Malory

esidue of the estates which go with it. The title has got for the present into an odd difficulty, and cannot assert itself; and those estates are, pe

ople seemed more pleased to see him, that he is listened to much better, that his jokes are taken and laughed at, and that a sceptical world seems to have come at last t

nd yachting; but his uncle does not care to visit Ware, and live in a corner of the house. I think he liked the p

d window-stone, smoking his cigar and gazing across the dark blue sheet of water, wh

kens and loses its appetite. He is conceited — affecting indifference, he loves admiration. The object for the time being seizes his whole soul. The excitement of

easuring his fascinations, his proximity to a title and great estates was not forgotten; and he is

for so long, in that solemn quietude and monotony so favourable for the reception of fanciful impressions, stood or sat, Nun-like, boo

it. “Margaret — Margaret,” he repeated softly. He fancied that he saw a light for a moment in the window of Malory, like a

who had never experienced a serious passion, hardly even a passing sentiment — now strangely moved and interested by a person whom he had never spoken to — only seen — who had seemed unaf

ys answer the invocation of the sufferer. The muse is as coy as death. So inste

re you will find me pining in solitude. Come just for a day. I know your heart is in your parish, and I shan’t ask you to stay longer. The Wave, my cutter, is here; you used to like a sail (he knew that the Rev. Is

old

VE V

by me — you will be there at four, and a fly will run you across to Cardyllian in little more than an hour, and there you will find me, expecting, at the Chancery; you know Wynne Williams’s old house in Castle

alf of quaint little houses, and a small venerable church, situated by the road that winds t

glimmering eddies, a misty view, now hardly distinguishable, of Malory, and pleasanter still, because hi

n to the green of Cardyllian. In the middle of September there is a sort of second season there; you may then see a pretty

istcoats

stcoats

white waistcoats, and starched buff cravats; touring curates in spectacles and “chokers,” with that smile proper to the juvenile cleric, curiously meek and pert; all sorts of persons,

ditably frequented. Tom Sedley was fond of the old town. I don’t think he would have reviewed the year at its close,

ling here and there into gleams of gold, away to the bases of the glorious Welsh mountains, which rise up from the deepest

stablished, can pray into a Jerry. The musical bell from the gray church tower hummed sweetly over the quaint old town, and

ace, about twenty minutes’ walk from the green of Cardyllian, has been twice married. The result is, that the two girls belong to very differen

advanced upon Tom, who strode up to them, a

was first up, and asked him very volubly, at least eleven kind questions, before s

you look! Certainly there’s no place on earth l

Miss Charity, which smiled and nodded acquiescence. “You’re going to

ley, with an arch glance at Agne

ol you always were; and we d

e of reproof from the nursery; and it was well, I suppose, that

g to be married? Is anyone dying, or anyone christened? I’ll

ly. “The most mysterious people that ever came t

r. Sedley,” said Miss Charity. “I w

ory’s been haunted as long a

dley could have talked like t

e. Malory’s full of ghosts. None but very queer people could t

never speaks, and there’s a beautiful young lady, and a gray old woman who calls herself Anne Sheckleton. They sh

“and the old woman a witch, a

ghed Miss Agnes, “for th

lk such folly,” inte

up to the house, and the cross old man they have put to keep the gate, took him by the collar, and was going to beat him. Old Captain Shrapnell says he did beat him with a child’s cricket-bat; but he hates Mr. Pritchard, so I’m not sure; but, at all events, he

ear Aggie; we saw them, Mr. Sedley,

artfully; “and you saw them p

ere not in our seat; though, indeed, people ought not to be starin

n the small pew? Yes, they were— that is, the young lady, I mean, was perfect

to hurry off to church; it mu

reet, and turned into quaint old Church Street, walking demurel

ype="