ts' House (for
that old building stood solitary amidst its grounds a little apart
from the spacious platform on which the society of the Hill was
concentrated), but up the broad causeway, with vistaed gaslamps; the
gayer shops still-unclosed, the tide of busy life only slowly ebbing
from the still-animated street, on to a square, in which the four main
thoroughfares of the city converged, and which formed the boundary of
Low Town. A huge dark archway, popularly called Monk's Gate, at the
angle of this square, made the entrance to Abbey Hill. When the arch was
passed, one felt at once that one was in the town of a former day. The
pavement was narrow and rugged; the shops small, their upper stories
projecting, with here and there plastered fronts, quaintly arabesque.
An ascent, short, but steep and tortuous, conducted at once to the old
Abbey Church, nobly situated in a vast quadrangle, round which were
the genteel and gloomy dwellings of the Areopagites of the Hill. More
genteel and less gloomy than the rest--lights at the windows and flowers
on the balcony--stood forth, flanked by a garden wall at either side,
the mansion of Mrs. Colonel Poyntz.

As I entered the drawing-room, I heard the voice of the hostess; it
was a voice clear, decided, metallic, bell-like, uttering these words:
"Taken Abbots' House? I will tell you."

CHAPTER VI.

Mrs. Poyntz was seated on the sofa; at her right sat fat Mrs. Bruce, who
was a Scotch lord's grand-daughter; at her left thin Miss Brabazon,
who was an Irish baronet's niece. Around her--a few seated, many
standing--had grouped all the guests, save two old gentlemen, who had
remained aloof with Colonel Poyntz near the whist-table, waiting for the
fourth old gentleman who was to make up the rubber, but who was at that
moment spell-bound in the magic circle which curiosity, that strongest
of social demons, had attracted round the hostess.

"Taken Abbots' House? I will tell you.--Ah, Dr. Fenwick, charmed to see
you. You know Abbots' House is let at last? Well, Miss Brabazon, dear,
you ask who has taken it. I will inform you,--a particular friend of
mine."

"Indeed! Dear me!" said Miss Brabazon, looking confused. "I hope I did
not say anything to--"

"Wound my feelings. Not in the least. You said your uncle Sir Phelim
employed a coachmaker named Ashleigh, that Ashleigh was an uncommon
name, though Ashley was a common one; you intimated an appalling
suspicion that the Mrs. Ashlei