elt terribly alone. He thought he would go back to
Captain Franks. The Rachel and her little tossing cabin seemed a cheery
spot in comparison to that on which he stood. The inn-folks did not know
his name of Warrington. They told him that was my lady in the coach,
with her stepdaughter, my Lady Maria, and her daughter, my Lady Fanny;
and the young gentleman in the grey frock was Mr. William, and he with
powder on the chestnut was my lord. It was the latter had sworn the
loudest, and called him a fool; and it was the grey frock which had
nearly galloped Harry into the ditch.

The landlord of the Three Castles had shown Harry a bedchamber, but
he had refused to have his portmanteaux unpacked, thinking that, for a
certainty, the folks of the great house would invite him to theirs. One,
two, three hours passed, and there came no invitation. Harry was fain
to have his trunks open at last, and to call for his slippers and
gown. Just before dark, about two hours after the arrival of the first
carriage, a second chariot with four horses had passed over the bridge,
and a stout, high-coloured lady, with a very dark pair of eyes, had
looked hard at Mr. Warrington. That was the Baroness Bernstein, the
landlady said, my lord's aunt, and Harry remembered the first Lady
Castlewood had come of a German family. Earl, and Countess, and
Baroness, and postillions, and gentlemen, and horses, had all
disappeared behind the castle gate, and Harry was fain to go to bed at
last, in the most melancholy mood and with a cruel sense of neglect and
loneliness in his young heart. He could not sleep, and, besides, ere
long, heard a prodigious noise, and cursing, and giggling, and screaming
from my landlady's bar, which would have served to keep him awake.

Then Gumbo's voice was heard without, remonstrating, "You cannot go in,
sar--my master asleep, sar!" but a shrill voice, with many oaths,
which Harry Warrington recognised, cursed Gumbo for a stupid, negro
woolly-pate, and he was pushed aside, giving entrance to a flood of
oaths into the room, and a young gentleman behind them.

"Beg your pardon, Cousin Warrington," cried the young blasphemer, "are
you asleep? Beg your pardon for riding you over on the bridge. Didn't
know you--course shouldn't have done it--thought it was a lawyer with a
writ--dressed in black, you know. Gad! thought it was Nathan come to nab
me." And Mr. William laughed incoherently. It was evident that he was
excited with liquor