Mr. Dale looked at these villas with the deliberate attention of a man awakening his power of memory, and at last stopped before one, almost the last on the road, and which faced the broad patch of sward that lay before the lodge of Lansmere Park. An old pollard oak stood near it, and from the oak there came a low discordant sound: it was the hungry cry of young ravens, awaiting the belated return of the parent bird. Mr. Dale put his hand to his brow, paused a moment, and then, with a hurried step, passed through the little garden and knocked at the door. A light was burning in the parlor, and Mr. Dale's eye caught through the window a vague outline of three forms. There was an evident bustle within at the sound of the knocks. One of the forms rose and disappeared. A very prim, neat, middle-aged maid-servant, now appeared at the threshold, and austerely inquired the visitor's business. "I want to see Mr. or Mrs. Avenel. Say that I have come many miles to see them; and take in this card." The maid-servant took the card, and half-closed the door. At least three minutes elapsed before she re-appeared. "Missis says it's late, sir; but walk in." The Parson accepted the not very gracious invitation, stepped across the little hall, and entered the parlor. Old John Avenel, a mild-looking man, who seemed slightly paralytic, rose slowly from his arm-chair. Mrs. Avenel, in an awfully stiff, clean, and Calvinistical cap, and a gray dress, every fold of which bespoke respectability and staid repute--stood erect on the floor, and, fixing on the Parson a cold and cautious eye, said-- "You do the like of us great honor, Mr. Dale--take a chair! You call upon business?" "Of which I have apprised you by letter, Mr. Avenel." "My husband is very poorly." "A poor creature!" said John feebly, and as if in compassion of himself. "I can't get about as I used to do. But it ben't near election time, be it, sir." "No, John," said Mrs. Avenel, placing her husband's arm within her own. "You must lie down a bit, while I talk to the gentleman." "I'm a real good blue," said poor John; "but I ain't quite the man I was;" and, leaning heavily on his wife, he left the room, turning round at the threshold, and saying, with, great urbanity--"Any thing to oblige, sir?" Mr. Dale was much touched. He had remembered John Avenel the comeliest, the most active, and the most cheerful man in Lansmere; great at glee club and cricket (though then stricken in years), greater in vestries; reputed greatest in elections. "Last scene of all," murmured the Parson; "and oh well, turning from the poet, may we cry with the disbelieving philosopher. 'Poor, poor humanity!'"[14] [Footnote 14: Mr. Dale probably here alludes to Lord Bolingbroke's ejaculation as he stood by the dying Pope; but his memory does not serve him with the exact words.]