held a small Bible, bearing the inscription, "_In hoc signo_." The
countenance was of a light complexion, with fair and almost effeminate
blue eyes, and an oval form of face--one of those physiognomies, to
which, though not otherwise unpleasing, we naturally attach the idea of
melancholy and of misfortune.[*] Apparently it was well known to Julian
Peveril; for after having looked at it for a long time, he could not
forbear muttering aloud, "What would I give that that man had never been
born, or that he still lived!"

[*] I am told that a portrait of the unfortunate William Christian is
still preserved in the family of Waterson of Ballnabow of Kirk
Church, Rushin. William Dhone is dressed in a green coat without
collar or cape, after the fashion of those puritanic times, with
the head in a close cropt wig, resembling the bishop's peruke of
the present day. The countenance is youthful and well-looking,
very unlike the expression of foreboding melancholy. I have so far
taken advantage of this criticism, as to bring my ideal portrait
in the present edition, nearer to the complexion at least of the
fair-haired William Dhone.

"How now--how is this?" said a female, who entered the room as he
uttered this reflection. "_You_ here, Master Peveril, in spite of all
the warnings you have had! You here in the possession of folk's house
when they are abroad, and talking to yourself, as I shall warrant!"

"Yes, Mistress Deborah," said Peveril, "I am here once more, as you
see, against every prohibition, and in defiance of all danger.--Where is
Alice?"

"Where you will never see her, Master Julian--you may satisfy yourself
of that," answered Mistress Deborah, for it was that respectable
governante; and sinking down at the same time upon one of the large
leathern chairs, she began to fan herself with her handkerchief, and
complain of the heat in a most ladylike fashion.

In fact, Mistress Debbitch, while her exterior intimated a considerable
change of condition for the better, and her countenance showed the less
favourable effects of the twenty years which had passed over her head,
was in mind and manners very much what she had been when she battled
the opinions of Madam Ellesmere at Martindale Castle. In a word, she
was self-willed, obstinate, and coquettish as ever, otherwise no
ill-disposed person. Her present appearance was that of a woman of the
better rank. From the sobriety of the fashi