The painter paused and listened; he heard quick steps beating the pavement above, and then a door opening. The next instant came a loud shout, and then the report of a pistol; then a shout again, then a momentary silence, and lastly the quick galloping of a horse. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Diggory: "they have cleared the way for me, and left me master of the field of battle;" and he drew back the blind from the lantern and looked about him. CHAPTER XXXI. Leaving poor Diggory Falgate to find his way out of the vault as best he might, or, if he rather chose to stay there, to make what discoveries he could, we must return by the reader's good leave to some of the more important personages of our tale; premising, however, that although we have dwelt thus long upon the adventures of the worthy sign-painter, those adventures were by no means without their influence upon the fate of the other personages in their history. We must also pass over a period of several days since last we were at Langley Hall, allowing the reader's imagination to supply the few and quiet changes which time had brought about, no event of any consequence having taken place in the interim. It was a warm and glowing evening, though Autumn had spread his brown mantle over the trees; and while fair Arrah Neil and Lady Margaret Langley sat in the old lady's usual drawing-room, with the windows open as in midsummer, Annie Walton was seated under a little clump of beeches at the back of Langley Hall, the Earl of Beverley, somewhat recovered from his wound, stretched on the dry grass at her feet. They were happy enough to enjoy long pauses in conversation; for their mutual love, as the reader has already been given to understand, was known and acknowledged by each; and their minds, starting from one common point, would run on in meditation along paths, separate indeed, but not far distant, and then, like children playing in a meadow, would return to show each other what flowers they had gathered. "How calm and sweet the evening is!" said the earl, after one of these breaks. "One would hardly fancy the year so far advanced. I love these summer days in autumn, dearest. They often make me look on to after years, and think of the tempered joys and tranquil pleasures of old age, calling up the grand picture of latter life left us by a great Roman orator, when the too vivid sun of youth and manhood has somewhat sunk in the sky, and we have freshness as well as warmth, though not the fervid heat of midsummer."