ar le roi, defense a Dieu,
De faire miracle en ce lieu.'"

"There is an old dame, not far from us in the country," said Helen,
"who I have heard, has threatened a violent death to half Penwith."

"Dismal individual!" exclaimed Rereworth.

"Our host complains," Helen continued, "of the decay of these old
wonders. There's not a child in Hampstead, he says, but will cross the
churchyard by night."

"Ay," said Randolph, "the age is incredulous. For my part, I should
like to be a visionary."

Helen perceived that her brother spoke rather moodily.

"The sun is setting," she said. "If we stay much longer, we shall have
it dark enough to encounter some spectre ourselves. Let us go home."

So they went. Rereworth lingered with them as long as he could,
thinking of the distance which would soon divide him from Helen.
Should they ever meet again? He felt that it only rested with himself
to strengthen the favourable impression he had already made. But would
not absence efface it? It was a question which must be left to time.
He was not certain of his own feelings. He had arranged a
correspondence with Randolph. He should therefore at least hear of
Helen. He fancied there was an unusual gloominess in his chambers that
night. The fire was out; and when he lighted his lamp, the dark
wainscotting of the walls, which he used to admire, wore a sombre
appearance. He retired to rest and dreamt of Trevethlan Castle.

The orphans thought it unnecessary to reveal themselves to their good
host and hostess. They merely said that circumstances called them
suddenly home. They had but few adieus to make, trifling matters to
settle, little baggage to pack. Cornelius and his sister had become
attached to their lodgers, and parted with them with more than
ordinary regret. Mr. Peach expressed his grief that they had come to
Hampstead late in the fall and quitted it before the Spring. They knew
not the beauties of his favourite suburb. His even cheerfulness was
shaded for a moment; he was reminded that he had a side to the wall.
He insisted on accompanying his young friends to the ancient inn from
which they were to start. And strange humours thronged upon his fancy,
while he stood in the court of the old-fashioned hostelry, when the
rattling mail had departed, looked up at the fantastic open galleries,
and peopled them with the guests of by-gone days. He went up to
Hampstead in a mood more serious than his wont; smoked his pipe
tranquil