ich he had
put in order for the occasion. Meantime Andrew made his appearance with
his true-blue recruits, whom he recommended in the highest terms, as
"sober decent men, weel founded in doctrinal points, and, above all, as
bold as lions." I ordered them something to drink, and they left the
room. I observed old Syddall shake his head as they went out, and
insisted upon knowing the reason.

"I maybe cannot expect," he said, "that your honour should put confidence
in what I say, but it is Heaven's truth for all that--Ambrose Wingfield
is as honest a man as lives, but if there is a false knave in the
country, it is his brother Lancie;--the whole country knows him to be a
spy for Clerk Jobson on the poor gentlemen that have been in trouble--But
he's a dissenter, and I suppose that's enough now-a-days."

Having thus far given vent to his feelings,--to which, however, I was
little disposed to pay attention,--and having placed the wine on the
table, the old butler left the apartment.

Mr. Wardlaw having remained with me until the evening was somewhat
advanced, at length bundled up his papers, and removed himself to his own
habitation, leaving me in that confused state of mind in which we can
hardly say whether we desire company or solitude. I had not, however, the
choice betwixt them; for I was left alone in the room of all others most
calculated to inspire me with melancholy reflections.

As twilight was darkening the apartment, Andrew had the sagacity to
advance his head at the door,--not to ask if I wished for lights, but to
recommend them as a measure of precaution against the bogles which still
haunted his imagination. I rejected his proffer somewhat peevishly,
trimmed the wood-fire, and placing myself in one of the large leathern
chairs which flanked the old Gothic chimney, I watched unconsciously the
bickering of the blaze which I had fostered. "And this," said I alone,
"is the progress and the issue of human wishes! Nursed by the merest
trifles, they are first kindled by fancy--nay, are fed upon the vapour of
hope, till they consume the substance which they inflame; and man, and
his hopes, passions, and desires, sink into a worthless heap of embers
and ashes!"

There was a deep sigh from the opposite side of the room, which seemed to
reply to my reflections. I started up in amazement--Diana Vernon stood
before me, resting on the arm of a figure so strongly resembling that of
the portrait so often mentioned, that