The door was slowly opened. Lady Mabel, as they entered, greeted her boys, and kindly welcomed the holy man. As he took her extended hand, a shuddering seized him; he averted his face, and caught a glimpse of Sir Osmund dismounting, under the casement. For a few moments, overcome by some strong emotions, he leaned upon his palmer’s staff. Meanwhile, gentle readers, be pleased to shut the door of the gallery behind you, and walk down, leaning, as gently as possible, on the Chronicler’s palsied arm. Do not extinguish the light,--else we are left in total darkness, on the dangerous corridor. Let us approach to serve the Welsh knight, who is now shouting lustily for his servants to appear, and take his horse. “Ho! my Welshmen,” and he blew his hunting horn; but they appeared not. “My other hounds,” he muttered, as he turned the horse, and lashed it away to bound forth at perfect liberty, “my other hounds know the horn. I shall see, presently, if these do not understand the whip.” He entered the porch, and was there met by Parson Cliderhoe. The knight bowed reverently, and would have passed him. “Sir Osmund Neville, will you grant me a short interview, upon a matter of importance to both of us?” “Please your reverence,” rejoined the knight, with a mixture of humility and haughtiness--“is it to breathe a pater-noster over my hunting expedition? You cannot return thanks for my success, as I have run down nothing.” Cliderhoe took him by the hand, and led him into a private apartment. As they entered, Sir Osmund, who was fretted by his bad luck in the chase, could ill brook the authoritative air which the parson had assumed; and when he was angry, he usually expressed himself in light blasphemy. “Adam Cliderhoe, although your namesake Adam, was placed at the head of the creation, and had all power and authority over it, still, you have not the same, and have, therefore, no right to lead me about wherever you list. And, reverend father, (by the way, although you are sworn to celibacy, you have got, by some means or other, a very large family of children, for every one calls you father,) you, I say, have the advantage over Adam. Ah! then there were no church lands. A pretty comfortable place that paradise--but then he had to work, and it could not afford him a better fleece than a few dry leaves. Now, father, these are warm robes of yours.” “Child, do not blaspheme. You have done very little, you know, to merit Haigh Hall, and yet you are the owner.” “Not altogether,” returned the knight. “There is one exception. Your very large demands.” “We’ll speak of that further, Sir Osmund. Are we safe from ears and listeners? because these do not suit secrets. Well, be seated,” and he fastened the door.