Old Lady Alice Redcliffe's entrance at this moment made a diversion. She entered, tall, grey, and shaky, leaning on the arm of pretty Beatrix, and was encountered near the door by the right reverend prelate, who greeted her with a dignified and apostolic gallantry, which contrasted finely with Sir Jekyl's jaunty and hilarious salutation. The Bishop was very much changed since she had seen him last. He, no doubt, thought the same of her. Neither intimated this little reflection to the other. Each estimated, with something of wonder and pity, the other's decay, and neither appropriated the lesson. "I dare say you think me very much altered," said Lady Alice, so soon as she had made herself comfortable on the ottoman. "I was about putting the same inquiry of myself, Lady Alice; but, alas! why should we? 'Never continueth in one stay,' you know; change is the universal law, and the greatest, last." The excellent prelate delivered this _ex cathedrâ_, as an immortal to a mortal. It was his duty to impress old Lady Alice, and he courteously included himself, being a modest priest, who talked of sin and death as if bishops were equally subject to them with other men. CHAPTER XXXVI. Old Scenes recalled. At dinner the prelate, who sat beside Lady Alice, conversed in the same condescending spirit, and with the same dignified humility, upon all sorts of subjects--upon the new sect, the Huggletonians, whom, with doubtful originality, but considerable emphasis, he likened to "lost sheep." "Who's lost his sheep, my lord?" inquired Sir Paul Blunket across the table. "I spoke metaphorically, Sir Paul. The Huggletonians, the sheep who should have been led by the waters of comfort, have been suffered to stray into the wilderness." "Quite so--I see. Shocking name that--the Huggletonians. I should not like to be a Huggletonian, egad!" said Sir Paul Blunket, and drank some wine. "Lost sheep, to be sure--yes; but that thing of bringing sheep to water--you see--it's a mistake. When a wether takes to drinking water, it's a sign he's got the rot." The Bishop gently declined his head, and patiently allowed this little observation to blow over. Sir Paul Blunket, having delivered it, merely added, after a decent pause, as he ate his dinner-- "Dartbroke mutton this--five years old--eh?" "Yes. I hope you like it," answered his host. Sir Paul Blunket, having a bit in his mouth, grunted politely-- "Only for your own table, though?" he added, when he'd swallowed it. "That's all," answered Sir Jekyl. "Never pay at market, you know," said Sir Paul Blunket. "I consider any sheep kept beyond two years as lost." "A lost sheep, and sell him as a Huggletonian," rejoined Sir Jekyl. "It is twenty years," murmured the Bishop in Lady Alice's ear, for he preferred not hearing that kind of joke, "since I sate in this parlour." "Ha!" sighed Lady Alice.