“I shall expect you, then,” said Lord Braithwaite. “You will find me quite alone, except my chaplain,--a scholar, and a man of the world, whom you will not be sorry to know.” He bowed and took his leave, without shaking hands, as an American would have thought it natural to do, after such a hospitable agreement; nor did Redclyffe make any motion towards it, and was glad that his Lordship had omitted it. On the whole, there was a secret dissatisfaction with himself; a sense that he was not doing quite a frank and true thing in accepting this invitation, and he only made peace with himself on the consideration that Lord Braithwaite was as little cordial in asking the visit as he in acceding to it. CHAPTER XX. The guests were now rapidly taking their departure, and the Warden and Redclyffe were soon left alone in the antique hall, which now, in its solitude, presented an aspect far different from the gay festivity of an hour before; the duskiness up in the carved oaken beams seemed to descend and fill the hall; and the remembrance of the feast was like one of those that had taken place centuries ago, with which this was now numbered, and growing ghostly, and faded, and sad, even as they had long been. “Well, my dear friend,” said the Warden, stretching himself and yawning, “it is over. Come into my study with me, and we will have a devilled turkey-bone and a pint of sherry in peace and comfort.” “I fear I can make no figure at such a supper,” said Redclyffe. “But I admire your inexhaustibleness in being ready for midnight refreshment after such a feast.” “Not a glass of good liquor has moistened my lips to-night,” said the Warden, “save and except such as was supplied by a decanter of water made brown with toast; and such a sip as I took to the health of the Queen, and another to that of the Ambassador to Hohen-Linden. It is the only way, when a man has this vast labor of speechifying to do; and indeed there is no possibility of keeping up a jolly countenance for such a length of time except on toast-water.” They accordingly adjourned to the Warden’s sanctum, where that worthy dignitary seemed to enjoy himself over his sherry and cracked bones, in a degree that he probably had not heretofore; while Redclyffe, whose potations had been more liberal, and who was feverish and disturbed, tried the effect of a little brandy and soda-water. As often happens at such midnight symposiums, the two friends found themselves in a more kindly and confidential vein than had happened before, great as had been the kindness and confidence already grown up between them. Redclyffe told his friend of Lord Braithwaite’s invitation, and of his own resolution to accept it. “Why not? You will do well,” said the Warden; “and you will find his Lordship an accustomed host, and the old house most interesting. If he knows the secrets of it himself, and will show them, they will be well worth the seeing.”