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GUY DEVERELL ALL IN THE DARK THE WYVERN MYSTERY THE COCK AND ANCHOR WYLDER'S HAND THE WATCHER CHECKMATE ROSE AND THE KEY TENANTS OF MALLORY WILLING TO DIE GOLDEN FRIARS THE EVIL GUEST
XIV. MR. LONGCLUSE'S BOOT FINDS A TEMPORARY ASYLUM, 72
XXII. MR. LONGCLUSE MAKES AN ODD CONFIDENCE, 120
XXIV. MR. LONGCLUSE FOLLOWS A SHADOW, 129
XXXVI. MR. LONGCLUSE SEES A LADY'S NOTE, 183
XLI. VAN APPOINTS HIMSELF TO A DIPLOMATIC POST, 203
LXXIII. AT THE BAR OF THE "GUY OF WARWICK," 341
There stands about a mile and a half beyond Islington, unless it has come down within the last two years, a singular and grand old house. It belonged to the family of Arden, once distinguished in the Northumbrian counties. About fifty acres of ground, rich with noble clumps and masses of old timber, surround it; old-world fish-ponds, with swans sailing upon them, tall yew hedges, quincunxes, leaden fauns and goddesses, and other obsolete splendours surround it. It rises, tall, florid, built of Caen stone, with a palatial flight of steps, and something of the grace and dignity of the genius of Inigo Jones, to whom it is ascribed, with the shadows of ancestral trees and the stains of two centuries upon it, and a vague character of gloom and melancholy, not improved by some indications not actually of decay, but of something too like neglect.
It is now evening, and a dusky glow envelopes the scene. The setting sun throws its level beams, through tall drawing-room windows, ruddily upon the Dutch tapestry on the opposite walls, and not unbecomingly lights up the little party assembled there.
Good-natured, fat Lady May Penrose, in her bonnet, sips her tea and chats agreeably. Her carriage waits outside. You will ask who is that extremely beautiful girl who sits opposite, her large soft grey eyes gazing towards the western sky with a look of abstraction, too forgetful for a time of her company, leaning upon the slender hand she has placed under her cheek. How silken and golden-tinted the dark brown hair that grows so near her brows, making her forehead low, and marking with its broad line the beautiful oval of her face! Is there carmine anywhere to match her brilliant lips? And when, recollecting something to tell Lady May, she turns on a sudden, smiling, how soft and pretty the dimples, and how even the little row of pearls she discloses!